Almost Alone
by Adishailan
Summary: You have a problem on your hands. A skeleton, to be precise, who's bones are scorching under your icy touch and who's limbs are leaden with fever. The silence is heavy but for the pitter-patter of rain around you as you lift him up and start your journey though the dark. (Swapfell/ Fellswap, Male reader/Papyrus)
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this idea in my head for a long time. Some of it is based on my experiences with bus journeys (mainly in the descriptions of how filthy they can be, not the skeleton encounters sadly) and a lot of it is from who knows where, but I hope you enjoy it.**  
 **Big thank you and shout out to my brilliant beta readers: hi ace50 and** **MagicInTheStars who drew the first cover image for this fic (check MITS's work out on DA -** **sunnyx-xday . deviantart . com ).** **Without** **you guys, I'm sure my grammar would send people to tears.**

* * *

It is one in the morning, it is dark, it is raining and you are alone... Well, sort of alone, almost alone. Your gaze unconsciously drifts back to the group of men and women who are drunkenly wobbling along the other side of the road you are waiting by.

You force yourself to look away, to stare instead at the orange glow of the electronic bus schedule, but you can't help but glance back to the group of people as they start singing. Their wailing voices are gratingly loud and off key. You're not even sure what lyrics they are trying to put together in that garbled jumble of voices. You stare at them for too long, trying to figure it out, and one of them notices you. Seeing the bright, leering smile on her face, you jolt in place and turn away, trying not to look at her directly, hoping that by doing this she will quickly lose what little interest she has in you. This hope is unfounded as the woman makes to cross the road, shouting out something as mangled as her singing. Your mouth goes dry and your palms start to sweat. Luckily, she never gets to you. The bus skids to a halt in front of you, blocking her from view. Thank god.

Your slight smile fades away as you step on and take in the familiar glower of an unfortunately familiar bus driver.

 _Great, it's him again, the Busbastard_. He scowls at you from under thick, wired glasses as you flash your Oyster card. Thankfully, he says nothing to you this time, instead roughly jerking the bus forward and making you stumble back as you look for somewhere to sit. You quickly fall into a swaying stupor as you settle down on one of the more stain-free seats, shattered from a long night at work. It's going to take an hour or so to get to your stop with this bus but it's the only one running this late (or early depending on how you view it.)

After ten minutes, you subtly press the stop button and the bus slows to a halt, the doors clanking open and Busbastard glaring back as no one gets up to leave, trying to figure out who pressed the button this time. He eyes you suspiciously, but you stare out the window, trying not to smile. With his heavy glaring, Busbastard is distracted enough that he doesn't have time to say anything bigoted as the new passenger shuffles on, flashing his card and slouching past the spittle filled driver.

You watch from the corner of your eye as the lanky monster lumbers his way down, his heavily shadowed eye-sockets almost slits and his furry, yellow stained hood up, hiding most of his skull from view. Water is still dripping down the back of his coat as he turns and sits down a few rows ahead, and you wonder how long he's been standing in the rain. Obviously, whatever job he does must end, at most, fifty minutes before two in the morning, otherwise he would get an earlier bus. By the looks of it, he must have been there for a while. You add this to another one of the mental list of facts you know about the skeleton, just under 'heavy-smoker' and 'insomnia sufferer'.

You're not exactly sure what he does every night but he's always catching the same bus as you. You presume he's coming back from work too; he never seems drunk and you can't think of any other reason for someone to constantly be out late, other than alcohol or work. You don't know for certain though as his stop is after yours and you have never spoken to him before. You don't really care to ask either. He's obviously not interested in conversation or you. You had seen a pretty girl once try to flirt with him, only for the monster to blank them out. The girl had scoffed at this and insulted him and you had heard it:

 _Startled from your thoughtless daze by her loud voice, you had blinked and refocused on the world around you, on her and then him, and you couldn't help but stare. It was the first time you had paid any real attention to him and the first time that you had realised that the furry hooded man was in fact a monster. Your surprise was quickly eaten away by another, darker feeling as that girl kept talking. Her over-permed hair bounced with every spat out angered word. He was an idiot, gay, dickless, a beast, and blind apparently. The monster did not look like he heard a word of those insults, but you did. You didn't do anything though. You said nothing and you did nothing, just watching as the girl eventually ran out of words and stared at him with incredulous, over-made eyes. The skeleton was still blankly staring into space as the girl huffed and sat somewhere else._

She never really bothered with him again, just glaring at him on the rare occasion that she happened to catch the same bus. You, on the other hand, had a different reaction.

After that day, you found yourself taking notice of the monster more and more. You would notice when he fell on the bus seats like they were his filth-encrusted crutch; you would notice when certain bus drivers just sped past him if he was by himself, and you noticed the blank, bored expressions he carefully held on his face. Each day you crossed something else off your mental check list: the cracks running up and down from his right eye, the flashes of gold that replaced two lost teeth, the heavy shadows under his eyes, the way he sometimes jumped at loud laughter or sudden shouts… Tonight is no exception. You are watching him as the bus takes a corner hard and he sways to the left, righting himself just in time to not fall.

One by one, your fellow passengers depart as the bus travels through the dark and empty streets of the city. Soon there are only a four passengers left, not including yourself. It is at the stop before yours that you realise the monster is still swaying in his seat with every turn and has started to softly shudder. You click the stop button and subtly move several seats closer to the monster, still keeping a distance but getting close enough to lean forward and catch sight of his face. It's flushed orange and his eyes are half-open. His shudders are shivers, you realise. He looks ill. You want to check, to ask him if he is okay, but you don't. You sit there and watch him until the bus has slowed to a stop.

 _It's not any of my business,_ you tell yourself as you get up to go. You know you shouldn't stick your nose in where it's not wanted... but still, you hesitate, standing at the doorway off the bus, perched on the boundary between sickly bright light and the damp, inky darkness.

"Get a move on, _pansy_!" Busbastard spits out behind you.

Some distant, almost forgotten part of you rears its head at that and you briefly consider trying to argue back at the comment, to ask what exactly he means by that and explain why he is a fool through and through, but a heavy clattering sound puts that terrifyingly enticing thought from your mind as you look back. The monster has fallen off his seat and is sprawled face down on the ground, huffing out tight little breaths onto the filthy floor. You are next to him in an instant, carefully turning him over, hand on the back of his skull to stop it from slamming back against the hard plastic again. You check him intently, your other hand on his brow and your eyes focused on the pained grit of his teeth.

"Wake up," you tell him as you one hand to tap at his shoulders. There is no response.

"Oi! Get that drunk **freak** off my bus!" Shouts Busbastard.

"He's _sick_ ," you explain, not looking away from the skeleton as he pants under your hands, eyes squeezed tight, and jaw clenched like a vice.

"Fucking hell! Get it the fuck off or I'm throwing it off," snarls the bus driver. You finally look up and stare at him incredulously, then at the other passengers who are actively avoiding meeting your eyes, now that you are facing them.

"... _Right_ ," you say, standing up and avoiding looking at any of those people for a moment more. You heft the monster up under his arms and pull him into your chest, slowly dragging him off the bus and away from that man's sickening sneer. The monster is heavy and a good few feet taller than you but you think you can hold him against your frame easily enough for a little while.

The bus roars off, leaving you alone in a dark and empty bus shelter as rain patters down against the thin glass. Well, almost alone, you think as the skeleton monster lies slouched in your arms, legs sprawled out against the pavement in what would appear to be a boneless fashion if it wasn't obvious that he did in fact have bones. You shake your head of these odd, dazed thoughts and haul him over to the bus stop bench. Gently, you lower his torso and swing his legs as best you can up onto the plastic frame, your other hand on his chest to steady him and stop him from sliding off. You can feel the heat seeping through the thick yellow jumper, the warmth pooling around your fingertips and almost burning to your icy touch. You keep your hand steady though as you kneel down beside him.

"Do you have anyone I can call?" You ask. No answer. You softly run your free hand over the pockets of his scruffy jacket and ripped jeans. No phone either.

 _Who doesn't carry a phone with them these days?_ You think. You fish out your own phone to uncertainly ring for an ambulance.

Now, it is a well-known fact by the majority of people out there that monsters often have hugely different anatomies to humans, being composed primarily of magic, so it isn't uncommon for hospitals to turn them away with this excuse. At least, that's what you've heard. This does not stop you from trying though. It doesn't go well.

"-Yes, I know he's a monster but- no- wait don't hang-"

You try again.

"-just fainted there and then. I took him off the bus, I couldn't just leave him there, no one else was helping h-... y-e-s he is ... No, look! I don't know how to help him. Surely someone-... no let me tal- ** _Sh_ it**!"

And again.

"-he's similar in size to humans so of course you can- ...no, he's not a danger. He's not even awake! Ple- _ugh_!"

And again...

You don't realise that the Skeleton's breathing has evened out for a moment, nor that his eyes are open and vaguely focused on you, as you mutter a profanity, take in a deep breath and try one last time.

"Look please. Don't hang up on me. I have someone with me who looks really sick and I must know what to do to help him. What does it matter if he's human or not?... **Please**..." you beg the new operator.

"...Monster food?" You ask, eyes lighting up and relieved smile on your face. You can do that, you think. You know you have some sea tea left in the fridge.

"Thank y-" you cut off as they slam down the phone on you but you're still smiling.

By the time you look back at the skeleton, his eyes have drifted shut once more and his frame has started to shake violently with shivers. Gently, you lift a limp, shivering arm and drape it across your shoulders as you scoop up his knees and lift him to your chest. He's very tall and awkward to carry but you find yourself grateful that he's a skeleton monster and not something with more meat on his bones.

As you start the twenty-minute walk to your flat, you struggle to one-handedly search on your phone for any more information on monster illnesses. There isn't much. Illness doesn't seem to be a big thing with monsters, or, if it is, they aren't sharing any information about it. The monster shifts again, forcing you to put away your phone or risk dropping him. He doesn't wake up during your fumbling, unsurprisingly considering how he reacted earlier to your attempts to wake him. Instead, his hood falls off as you stumble with him and his head lollops back. You stare at him in the drizzle-stained gloom, taking in the faint gleam of his two golden teeth, jutting upwards from his lower jaw as they catch the light of a lone passing car. You shake your head of your peculiar thoughts on this and keep walking, hunched over him as if to keep the light haze of rain off.

"We're nearly there," you whisper to him, shifting him in your arms as you try to bring a bit of life back to your leaden limbs. As you expect, he doesn't say anything. You think you see his eye lids shift slightly though. It is strange to see him with closed eyes. Usually they are open, if droopy and hooded, and are just blank eye sockets, kind of like the ones you see in human skeletons. But now, he really doesn't look like how you imagine a skeleton to look. He looks like what he is, a living, breathing being.

You tear your eyes away from his face as you focus on making your way up the metal staircase of your apartment block that you have finally reached, legs shaking with the weight you carry, and breath coming out hard and harsh as you push your aching arms to keep carrying him straight up past the first and second floor, all the way up to the third. There, you find yourself in a strained juggling act as you try to get out your keys and unlock the door without dropping the monster.

You don't bother with the lights as you get in, quickly making your way to your bedroom and carefully placing him down on your lumpy, single bed, before dashing back to close the front door and root around for a warm towel and the sea tea. You hesitate as you look down at the carton in your hand. You're slightly worried about giving a drink to someone who is unconscious, which is something that should not be done with humans, but you have little choice at this point. From what the operator had said, it sounded like he wouldn't get better without magical food. Not being conscious makes drinking difficult but you've done this sort of thing before for... for someone else, and you know what to do.

You grab a teaspoon and make your way to your room with all these things, turning on your dim bedside light as you sit at the top of your small, narrow bed. You gently raise the monster's head and slip under him to rest his skull upon your lap. He shifts slightly as you do so, making you feel relieved. If he had fallen deeply unconscious, he would have no swallow reflex which would mean you couldn't do this. You softly trail the towel over him to dry him off, cradling his face with it and briefly running it over his thin frame. You then pour out a quarter of a spoonful of sea tea and gently let the liquid bead and drip down into the slight sleepy parting of his teeth. You do this agonisingly slowly, frequently checking the monster's breathing and for any sign of discomfort as you unknowingly circle your free hand across the monster's skull in a comforting manor.

For how long you do this, you don't know. All you know is that by the time you have given him a quarter of the carton, you cannot feel your legs anymore, his cheeks look less flushed, and he has stopped weakly stirring, falling into a deeper and calmer state of sleep. You slowly extract yourself from under his head, kneeling down beside him to roll his body into the recovery position. You don't know if skeleton monsters can throw up in their sleep but you do know you don't want to risk him choking.

You wearily shuffle off to the sofa after that, collapsing onto the bumpy cushions, too tired to care about the rough lumps of the broken springs or even about taking out the false bridge from your mouth as you sink deeper and deeper into your weary exhaustion.

* * *

He wakes up one hour after you the next morning.

You are in the kitchen, making pancakes with splashes of sea tea in them when he lightly steps through the doorway. You jolt in place when you notice him, spinning around with wide eyes as you take him in. Usually the monster stands with a slump to his frame and a bored, unfocused expression on his face, expelling a tired aura of disinterested apathy. That's **not** what you're seeing right now.

"Good morning!" you blurt out, trying to regain your senses, "a-are you feeling better?"

He doesn't say anything, he just stares at you through empty, hooded eye sockets. You feel a light sheen of sweat forming on your brow as you think of something to say.

"Y-you want some sea tea or, uh, sea tea pancakes?" You try, moving to the side to show him the skillet you have been cooking on.

You can feel his gaze flicker to the stove then back to you. For a moment he just stands and looks blankly at you, his face like stone and stare like ice. Then he abruptly turns around and walks out of your apartment without a word.

The pancake hisses and spits loudly behind you in the sudden silence as you walk into the living room and watch the door softly click shut. The kitchen clock ticks loudly from behind you and the sound of the neighbour's TV drifts through the thin walls. You take in a deep hitching breath and go back into the kitchen to turn off the stove and lean on the counter.

Right. Well. You don't know why but you didn't expect that... You should have thought of some other way of helping him other than taking him back here. He woke up in a strange place with no explanation and you offered him **pancakes**? Why did you do that? You're such an- you- you messed up.

You wince, taking your balled up fist away from your forehead and turning back to the front door; worry twisting at your lips.

...You hope he's going to be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

You see your monster again that very night, coming back from work on your bus. His face still looks a bit flushed but he's no longer shaking or swaying. You avert your eyes as he slouches down past the rows of gum studded chairs and you tell yourself that you can't feel his gaze on you.

You are looking out the window when you feel the seat next to you dip down. The glass, brightly lit up by the fluorescent lights inside the bus, acts more like a mirror than a window. You look into it, watching the monster sitting down beside you, staring blankly forward. You don't know what to say so you say nothing. You don't know what to do so you do nothing. You just close your mouth with a click and force yourself to stare out the front of the bus.

The two of you sit there, the hushed quiet between you and him growing with every minute until it almost hums with the weight of unspoken words. You find it hard to even open your mouth; that is until it's your stop.

"Um, excuse me," you say, leaning across him to push the button.

He doesn't speak but, as the bus slows to a stop, he stands and moves to the side, far away enough for you to get through, but close enough that you have to brush past him. You feel your face burn as you shoot off the bus, and you shake your head. You look back but he's still blankly staring forward, not looking in your direction at all. You shake your head again. That was weird, wasn't it? You wonder what is going on in that monster's head... and whether this is going to be a onetime thing.

* * *

It isn't a onetime thing. It starts becoming **a** thing. You'll sit on the window seat and he'll sit next to you. Even when, on occasion, the bus is entirely empty but for the two of you, he will still sit next to you. He never says anything and neither do you, other than: "This is my stop" and "Excuse me." And it goes on like this night after night, shift after shift, for an excruciatingly awkward week when you spend every minute either staring straight ahead, trying to piece together in your mind what on earth he is doing, or subtly checking whether his flushed and tired appearance has faded in the midnight mirror of the bus windows... That is, until one day when someone else takes his seat.

You have noticed the older woman before, staring at the skeleton monster with something akin to disgust in her watery, red-rimmed eyes but she never did or said anything. You dismissed her as irrelevant. If you had thought of the woman at all, you would never have expected her gaze to turn to you. She is middle aged, most likely in her late fifties, if you cared to guess. You don't though, and you try to ignore her as she blatantly glowers at you.

…Then the whispering starts. Harsh words echo in your ear about monsters and sin and hell. Her putrid, phlegm stained breath makes you gag internally, but you otherwise give as little response to her torrent of insults as you can.

 _She'll get bored and stop, like that girl did with my- with that monster, she'll get bored and stop, you tell yourself over and over._

She doesn't. She goes on talking.

"-with that slaverin' _freak_ leering an' all. Let me tell you, you better watch out or that disgustin' fag's gonna follow you back home some night and ra-"

You barely even register the bus stopping as you finally turn to face her, the unfamiliar expression on your face cutting her off mid-sentence.

" **Be** **quiet."** You tell her. She blinks up at you, shocked by the tone of your voice. Hell, you're shocked by the tone of your voice. You turn away and look out the window once more.

"...I'm givin' you a warning, you _stupid bastard_ ," she hisses out when she recovers, eyes dull and gunged up with red veins. "I'm lookin' out for you. That ugly, freakin' thing ain't your friend. It's going to eat you up and no one's gonna care."

The bus has started moving again and you feel your skin flushing with irritation.

"He's not," you spit out, turning to look her in the veiny eyes. "And you are no one to talk about that when it looks like your face caught fire and someone tried to put it out with a bloody fork."

You don't hear a distant snort of laughter, you're too preoccupied with seeing the expression rippling across the woman's face. That probably wasn't a smart thing to say. Why did you have to say that? You shouldn't have said that.

"Fine! You're gonna get fucked up, let me tell you. I know this story. That monster's gonna break your fuckin' teeth in and scratch out your stupid eyes and you'll just take it and _love it_ , you sick freak."

Your breath hitches slightly and you turn your face down to your lap, hands clenched tight on your knees as you focus on the rough feeling of your jeans, telling yourself to breathe. To just breathe.

"Listen to me when I'm talkin' at you, you stupid little fuck. You're gonna get r-"

"You're in my seat."

You blink at the somewhat familiar voice, the ridged tension in your frame softly melting away as you turn around to see the skeleton monster impassively staring down at the abruptly cowering woman.

The skeleton sits next to you as the woman slinks off.

"Thank you," you murmur, calming down as you take a long inhale of the slightly cleaner air. There's the usual stale smell of unclean seats and sour, recycled bus-air but also something else, a hint of smoke and something sweet and powdery, like white sherbet.

The monster doesn't say anything but jerkily nods as you both fall into your usual hushed silence. Today, however, is slightly different in that, as the bus rolls through the deserted city streets, you catch him glancing at you a few times. You've never seen him looking at you before and you find the whole thing very peculiar.

"...Thanks." He says as the bus rolls to a stop and you pass him to leave. You look back at him, eyes wide. He doesn't meet your gaze, instead staring at the floor. You know he's not just talking about your pitiful attempt at defending him from the woman's insults.

"You're welcome," you say and he finally meets your gaze before you turn away and walk off the bus. This time he watches you from the window.

* * *

He starts talking a little bit more after that. And when you say little, you mean little.

"Papyrus," he brusquely murmurs one night.

"What?"

"My name," he explains.

"Oh..."

"What's your name?" He asks you the next day.

You tell him.

"Oh..." he says and his mouth quirks up for a brief moment before he goes back to staring out the front.

Sometimes you ask the questions first. He doesn't always answer but it's nice when he does.

"You uh, feeling better then?" You ask.

"Yeah," is all he says but you feel him watching you as he says it. However, every time you glance at him to check, he's facing towards.

"You heading back from work?" You ask him the day after that.

"Yeah. You?"

"Same... Where do you work?"

He doesn't answer but you don't mind as you tell him about your job as a janitor, smiling ever so faintly when he nods or grunts in response to your words, quietly encouraging you to continue.

Even when talking, every journey with him is still filled with unspoken words. You want to ask how he lost his teeth, but you don't. You want to find out why he has shadows under his eyes, but you can't. You want to know if the cracks running up from his eye sockets will ever heal, but you will never ask. You sometimes wonder if he has similar questions in his head about you, about the slightly different shaded teeth of the bridge in the front of your mouth, the small circular burn marks peeking out of your turtleneck, just below your chin, or the fact you never wear short sleeved shirts. Papyrus never asks about any of this. But, one day, after over a month of shared journeys and about ten minutes of the usual silence, he does ask you something:

"Why did you help me?"

"Pardon?" You ask, certain you misheard him.

He repeats himself, not looking at you once while he speaks. You're not quite sure what to say so, for a little while, you say nothing, simply sitting next to him in contemplative silence as the bus roars down the dark roads. Then, just before your stop, you turn to him.

"I thought, you're kinda like me, and I didn't get help when I- well… I just wanted to..." your voice trails off as you try to think of how to explain yourself better. "…I'd do it again," you finally mumble, "if you needed it, I would do it again."

This time when you make to get off for your stop Papyrus doesn't move for a few moments, frowning down at his hands as you softly ask to get past. He starts and abruptly jumps up and out of your way, you smile up at him but he doesn't smile back.

Ugh. You probably said that weirdly. Like that you wouldn't have helped him if he hadn't reminded you of yourself. That wasn't what you meant. Oh god.

You shake your head of these thoughts and focus instead on the long trudge back to your flat. The shadows stretch out around you with every step as you make your way alone through the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: awkward fluff**

 **(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)**

* * *

You don't get to see Papyrus every time you get on that bus. You have two days free from work a week, Fridays and Saturdays. You think he takes Saturdays and Sundays off his job as you never see him on Sunday night and he has quietly commented a few times about you not being there on Fridays.

You do, however, see him working on a Sunday morning one time as you are strolling through the shopping mall closest to work.

He is slouched behind a security desk with a hat on his head at a jaunty angle that covers most of his face. He is also wearing an off-white shirt, a loose black tie and he has his feet propped up on the desk. His shoes are obviously part of the uniform, but it's clear to see, even from a distance, that he hasn't been looking after them well. Even upon noticing the scruffy set to his clothes and the slouching frame to his body, you don't realise it's him until you walk past and feel a tap on your shoulder. You jolt and quickly look around to meet a soft, hollow gaze.

"Papyrus?" You blurt out, almost dropping your shopping in your surprise. "I didn't know you worked here."

"Never told you," Papyrus shrugs, sitting on the edge of the desk now and ignoring the people walking past as he eyes up your bags. You follow his tired, inquiring gaze.

"I was just getting some art supplies. I've got something new to paint."

There's something like a flash of interest on his face but muted and quickly covered up by his usual droopy eyed expression. "Thought you were a janitor at an office," he murmurs and you blink, surprised by the fact he bothered to remember that.

"Yeah, I am. But I paint on the side for online commissions. It helps pay the bills."

He nods to himself and lets out a deep breath, looking away.

"...You got more than one job?" You ask, shifting the bags in your hands as you unconsciously pull at the plastic.

"Yeah, only one today though..." He says and you think that that's the end of it, that he'll fall into silence again and go back to work. But then he surprises you. "How long you been painting?"

He's keeping a conversation going with you? You blink several times then feel a small smile curling at your lips. His eyes track it as you start telling him about how you used to like art as a kid, about the art club you first went to at college, and then how you kept the hobby going in University through a society.

"- I had to- I stopped for a while once I finished there, but I started again last year and managed to make a small name for myself online. Not enough to earn a lot, but enough for me to save up something with my job."

He nods as you finish your story, his hands twitching slightly as the silence stretches again.

"...You doing much else apart from shopping?" he finally asks.

"No, was just gonna grab some lunch."

He nods and turns around, hooking up his fluffy jacket and rucksack from behind the desk.

"Let's go then."

Surprise seems to be today's look on your face as you nod and turn to walk side-by-side with the monster to the food court.

As he grabs a table, you notice from the corner of your eye that he does not have any monster food. Rather, he's carrying a beat up can of something with a faded label that you can't quite work out. When you get to the front of one of the fast food lines, you ask for two sea teas and two cinnabons along with your burger and set down one of each in front of him. He's gazes at you blankly, then follows your gaze to the food set before him. He stares at them for a moment, then up at you as you scratch at the back of your neck and force on an awkward smile, your eyes slipping down to your hands then back up to him. He looks down at the food again with a soft, almost questioning, tilt to his head, and slowly takes a sip of the drink, sitting there silently as if lost in thought.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as the awkward moment passes and practically inhale your food, paying hardly any attention to the monster sitting across from you, legs splayed out and eyes intent on you. You look up for a moment but only to see him gazing sightlessly at the other customers, plastic straw of his drink clamped tight between his teeth. He seems to feel your eyes on him and meets your gaze for a brief second. You smile fondly. He looks away and you mentally shrug, putting the whole thing down as your imagination and finish breathing in your cinnabon before quickly scrabbling to tidy up.

"I've got to be off now. Work starts in half an hour: someone's off sick so I'm on extra shift today," you explain, standing up to collect your things now.

He looks up at you like he has just realised you were there.

"No," he says before blinking rapidly and quickly blurting out a correction. "I- uh, yeah. See ya."

You shrug off the strange, hoarse tone to his voice as his usual habit of getting distracted when quiet for too long and wave him goodbye as you walk off.

* * *

The next day, when you are on the bus, he isn't. It's not his day off. You try not to feel disappointed.

* * *

It's a full week before you see him again and he looks awful. His coat is ruffled, damp and stained with something brown, his hands are shaking and the shadows under his eyes almost look carved in. He sits next to you and before you can say a single thing he turns to you and asks:

"That 'sea tea or sea tea pancake' offer still standing?"

The fact that he's the first to talk isn't what makes you freeze in surprise. Neither is the fact that he mentioned your first meeting which he has only ever vaguely done once before. You stare at him, mouth opening softly at the fact he bothered to remember exactly what you said from over two months ago. You're silent for too long though. His expression shutters and starts to close off, he's muttering something or other about forgetting it and, before you can even register it, you're talking.

"Yes! I mean, I don't have pancake mix right now but I do have this chicken pasta thing I was thinking of making and, uh, I think I've got some spider cider left if you like."

There is a long beat of silence as he slowly turns back to look at you, then:

"Yeah."

You both turn to look forwards again, not saying a word until it's your stop and you make your way off the blindingly bright bus, off into the inky dark together.

The walk is long and the paths uneven. There is a distant sound of drunken yelling and dogs barking, but it seems quieter today somehow. Papyrus frowns softly as you both make your way along the unlit pathways, past graffitied walls and through secluded, piss-stained underpasses.

"You walk this far all the time?" he asks, knocking over a stray beer bottle with his foot as he walks by your side. You don't answer, instead taking his hand and guiding him around an unseen broken flagstone that would have tripped him up. He looks at your hand in his then back at the flagstone, fading away into the gloom behind him, before nodding to himself at the unvoiced answer. You notice he doesn't let go of your hand as you both continue to make your way through the dark, but you are unsure of how to bring it up. He seems to have not noticed, just be frowning into space, and looking weirdly contemplative.

It's only when you finally get back to your place and you start fumbling with the keys that he seems to realise he's still holding your hand and quickly drops it. Your fingers feel cold. You hadn't realised how warm he had made your hand was until he let go. Huh.

You get in, flick on the light and make to quickly riffle through the kitchen to get him the drink. As you busy yourself, he looks around. You suppose he didn't really get a chance to last time. There's not much to look at though. Your apartment is pretty bare. There is no TV or electronics at all apart from the battered, second-hand laptop you have on your battered, fourth-hand Ikea coffee table. There is a poster on the wall but it's just some cheap print you got in a sale once. Other than that, the place feels pretty empty and dull, making the contrast to your bedroom all the greater. You don't have much in the way of personal items -not anymore at least- but what little you do have is in your room, along with your paint splattered easel and collection of multi-coloured works in progress. You shake your head of these thoughts and leave the kitchen.

"Thanks," he murmurs as you hand him a glass of cider and tell him to make himself comfortable while you get cooking.

As you chop the chicken and start frying it, you wonder if Papyrus is comparing the bare walls here to the wine red and murky green painted canvases littering your bedroom, or the empty and unused space around him to the bookshelves full of books, the few battered knickknacks you managed to save, and dusty pictures of old friends and now distant family members. But perhaps not. He probably doesn't remember what your room looked like, you tell yourself. At that time he had most likely been more concerned with the fact he was in an unknown and unfamiliar place... yet here he is, back again.

You smile faintly as he sits on his hands, shoulders hunched up and head turning to watch you as you enter. After placing the pasta down in front of him and topping up his drink, you sit down next to him as you both silently start to eat. Out of the corner of your eye you see him placing the food in his jaw and simply swallowing, not chewing at all. You suppose that makes sense, what with him having no cheeks it must be hard to chew.

"Is it alright?" You ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah... it's good," he says before taking another bite.

When you finish your food he picks up the plate and goes to wash it up.

"Wait, I can do that," you tell him but he shakes his head and gives you a small smirk.

"Nah, I'm doing it."

Well. Can't argue with that you suppose, even if an old part of you half wants to.

You open up your laptop and try to find some show on BBC iPlayer to fill the silence.

"You want to watch something?" You ask when he returns a few minutes later, pointing towards the paused title credits of an episode of QI.

"Sure."

Papyrus sits next to you as the laptop whirls and the show starts with its usual upbeat theme song, filling the quiet room with music. He slouches back against the balding cushions of your (fourth-hand? Fifth-hand?) sofa, his legs splayed open and hands in his coat pockets as he watches Steven Fry welcome you both to the show and introduce all the different comedians. The corners of his jaw quirk up slightly at the silly buzzer sounds and the sarcastic comments they make as they start discussing moose mating calls. You smile lightly with a few of the jokes and start to get drawn in.

After ten minutes or so though, you find you are no longer able to watch it. You attention has been sharply diverted by the heavy weight landing on your shoulder. You stare blankly at the laptop screen for a full minute before letting out a tight, controlled breath. You turn and carefully slide Papyrus's head off your shoulder into your calloused hands, gently guiding him back against the cushions. You take a moment to watch him let out warm breaths of air into the slither of space between you two before you shake yourself and pull back. You close your laptop and turn back to him, frowning as you consider the situation for a moment. Last time he stayed, he was not happy in the morning... but looking at him now, at the heavy shadows under his eyes and the soft tremors of his limbs, you find you don't want him to go.

"Papyrus," you whisper into where his ear would be if he were human, slowly placing a hand on his shoulder to tap him awake. "Do you want to stay the night?"

He jolts slightly and nods, scrunching up his closed eyes and murmuring something too garbled for you to understand, hand sliding up to his shoulder and gripping onto your fingers painfully tight. Gently, you extract your hand and help him up, looping his arm over your shoulder as you guide his sleep addled limbs towards your bedroom. His head lollops forward into the crook of your neck and you feel the soft inhales and exhales against your skin. You blink several times and mentally shake yourself once again, making yourself start walking again to guide your friend to your bedroom. You don't mind him going in there. You don't really have much except a couple of books and a few nicknacks. The only embarrassing thing there is your artwork but you don't think he'll bother looking at them. You're not about to let him sleep on the couch anyway. It's a killer on the back and definitely not what he needs right now.

You take off his shoes, frowning at the ratty converses as they almost come apart in your hands, and cover him with your duvet, before turning and making to go back into the living room to sleep on the sofa- only to pause at the doorway, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing.

With the lack of any other sounds around you, the soft sound of another person's breath is almost deafening. You listen intently to the whistling huffs of air escaping from a slack jaw. The air buzzes with the quiet of it all, as you stand there, leaning your head on the cool wood of the door frame. All you can hear is the whispered echo to your own exhales.

Your smile feels painful on your face as you shake your head and force yourself to move forward and shut the door behind you.

"Night... Papyrus," you murmur.

* * *

This time it isn't you who wakes up first. A slight clatter of metal on metal stirs you from your melancholy dreams as you shift over in your be- wait, this isn't your bed. Your eyes snap open as a particularly vicious spring jolts up into the small of your back, the sharp edge of metal lightly snagging on the material of your top, and you remember.

You sit up, stretching out your arms and smiling at the soft click of your joints. You wince at the knotted feeling of your back but you ignore it and instead look over to the kitchen door- where Papyrus is now standing, forks and frying pan still in hand, staring at you with something akin to panic on his face.

"You ok?" He asks, eyes flashing over your body as if looking for something.

"I'm fine, just a bit stiff is all," you tell him, not even bothering to squash down the grin that had curled at your lips on seeing him.

It takes a few seconds for him to rigidly nod, standing there for a moment longer before hesitantly turning back into the kitchen. You wonder what that was about as you pick up your blanket from the sofa and tuck it away in the airing cupboard. You know you won't ask though. He comes out a few minutes later with two plates of what you think is supposed to be scrambled eggs. He sets them down on the coffee table, takes a seat and looks over to you.

 _Oh. This is him saying thanks,_ you realise and quickly sit next to him. The sofa makes a clinking, clunking ' **boing'** sound as you do and Papyrus frowns down at it, luckily missing the first expression that crosses your face as you try a bite of the blackened mess.

The taste is indescribable. You won't describe it.

You swallow the crusty lump, fighting back the choking gag clawing at the back of your throat as you smile and nod. Papyrus isn't fooled though, you can tell by the way he fixes you with an unimpressed look, sighs and says:

"You don't have to eat it."

You feel awful, and not just because of the food. He then tries to take the plate off you. Emphasis on the 'tries', you somehow shovel another three forkfuls into your mouth before he finally wrenches back the plate, openly goggling at you as you furiously force yourself to chew.

A slow rumbling sound starts to emit from him as he hunches over his knees with the captured plate clamped messily onto his chest. At first you think that he's growling and you freeze, cheeks still bulging with charred egg as you stare wide eyed at him. He looks up at you and the rumbling grows louder into a hitching wheezing sound and you suddenly realise what the sound is. He's laughing. He's _actually_ laughing. You're so surprised by this that you unthinkingly swallow and start choking slightly as the sharp, slimy mixture scrapes down your throat. His wheezing laughter just gets louder and louder at this and you find you can't help but join in, smiling at him as he tries to catch his breath, only to look at you and start his throaty giggling once again.

You laugh along with him, chest aching and smile almost painful on your face, but in a good way. You find yourself hoping that Papyrus staying over isn't going to be a one-time thing.

* * *

 **Yeah, you can tell I'm British with the BBC references.**  
 **For those of you who haven't watched QI (Quite Interesting) before, I'd definitely recommend it. It's basically a show which takes a bunch of (usually) British comedians and quizes them on ludicrous stuff, with points given for obscure answers and and points deducted for "answers which are not only wrong, but pathetically obvious". (Here's the clip of the episode they were watching: www . youtube watch?v=BG5Yf3fuIs4)**  
 **It's quite a harmless show and I thought Papyrus would appreciate it, he likes mellow** **humour.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hiya everybody! So, it's not long until I have to start work again. I'm starting at my new school in two days (AHHH!) but worry not about the updates! I'm planning to stick to a sort-of schedule on this fic. I'll be updating every fortnight at the longest, sometimes a little bit less, like today! I just really wanted to get this chapter out!**_

 _ **I'm also in the midst of writing that side-fic for this story, which looks at the backstory of different characters and different POVs (mainly Papyrus so far but a bit of Sans as well.) I may post that somewhat soon so be on the lookout if you're interested :)**_

 _ **Anyhoo, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and… sorry in advance.**_

 _ **Warnings at the end to avoid spoilers.**_

* * *

Papyrus coming home with you isn't a one-time thing. It's not even a two-time thing. He walks you back to your flat almost every night after that, listening intently as you tell him about your days and guide him past the many potholes in the dark paths.

You find you start keeping more monster food in your fridge and have added another carton of sea tea to your cart each time you shop. He seems to like the drink somewhat... although he likes everything when you get down to it. He isn't fussy about food at all. You realise the true extent of this one night when you tell him to help himself to whatever is in the cupboard while you go reapply the adhesive to your nails and clean your bridge, and you come back five minutes later to find him eating uncooked ravioli straight out of a can with every sign of enjoyment. After that you always make sure to offer him options on what to eat.

He doesn't stay the night again, generally just staying an hour or so before slouching off at some point when you're not looking. However, what little time you do spend with him you find is strangely fun and comfortable. As you had worked out pretty much from the start, he's not one for forced conversation. If he needs to say something he'll say it; otherwise he's happy just to read one of your books or watch a show on your laptop. You have to be the one to initiate this though, because if you don't then he just sits there and quietly watches you cooking dinner or painting.

After the first week or so of this, you find he is talking a bit more. At first, it's just simple questions about what sort of things you like and like to do, similar to his previous attempts at conversation. Then it's about co-workers you have only ever mentioned in passing, and whether your boss has got off your back about the triple shifts yet. He remembers things that surprise you, like that you're good at the maths sections on TV quizzes or the fact that you like watching comedies but cannot stand dramas and soap operas. He asks you why on that last one and you tell him some lie about over the top problems or unbelievable situations. You can actually see him storing the information away in his head as he considers this.

Eventually he starts showing more about himself as well. Again, not much at first, but enough for you to fill in the gaps and enough to make you wish for more. You know that he doesn't like filth much (apart from what is already on him, which he is strangely apathetic about), he knows something about art and he's very caring in his own quiet way. He never says or shows any of those things upfront, but you can tell when his mouth turns down as he sits on certain seats of the bus, when he avoids meeting your eyes at times when he's struggling to think of something to talk about, or when he says:

"You should clean your jeans. That seat had teeth marks in it... someone chewed it..."

"What type of oil binder d'you use for that paint? Linseed oil s'posed to turn yellow after a few years."

"You not got any other way for getting home from here? P'raps a bike or something."

"You gonna get that sofa fixed?" and "You should get to bed, don't sleep here."

One night though, he does tell you something upfront.

"I got a brother; his name's Sans."

You pause in stirring the lamb stew on the hob, turning around in surprise as Papyrus slouches in the doorway with a soft frown on his face.

"Oh?" You reply. "What's he like?"

Papyrus is quiet for a moment, seemingly contemplating his answer as he turns his head up to stare at the patch of damp on the ceiling.

"Not like me," he finally says before frowning again, still looking up at the ceiling. "He wants to meet you."

"Okay," you say and turn back to the stew.

This obviously wasn't the reaction Papyrus wasn't expecting as his gaze snaps down to meet yours.

"...I thought you'd find it weird."

"How so?"

He didn't seem to have an answer for that, he just watches as you hum to yourself and add a sprig of mint to the stew.

You suppose it could be considered weird. You and Papyrus, well it's hard to know if you can even call him your friend yet, even if you've taken to doing it in your head. You definitely haven't brought it up, worried about scaring him off... So why does his brother want to meet you?

"Little brother or big?" You ask, dishing up the stew.

"Both."

You furrow your brow at that and think. "So, he's younger and tall for his age or older and short?"

"Don't call him short when you meet him," Papyrus tells you as he picks up the bread and cutlery.

* * *

You both get the bus together on Saturday afternoon. It takes another twenty minutes from yours to get to the right stop. You wonder how long it takes on foot and make a mental note to put more effort into persuading Papyrus to stay the night in the future. You know there aren't any more buses after yours and you don't like the idea of him walking back alone in the dark.

"How long have you lived with Sans then?" You ask, as you both get off the bus, thanking one of the nicer bus drivers who took you here today.

"I've always lived with him," he murmurs quietly. You look up at him, catching a hint of worry in his voice. The words sink in along with his closed off expression and a faint suspicion in your mind. You eye up his tense frame, the forced, calm look on his face and the splintered cracks running down from his golden teeth.

Eyes forward, you tell yourself. It's fine, you reason as you force your hands to still and your feet to walk along the smooth and uncracked pavement. The thoughts don't go away though. They won't. Neither will the vague sickly, writhing feeling growing in the pit of your belly.

As you both walk towards a rather nice and upmarket flat complex, you find you're not feeling very good about this whole 'meeting the family' thing. This somehow feels like a mistake. You chew on the sides of your mouth, scratch at your wrists, wring your fingers and generally feel as if something is clawing at your insides. Papyrus doesn't seem to notice, he's too busy looking for his lobby keys and opening the door. Your every step is lagging now as you creep after him and internally chide yourself for acting this way. It's just his brother for Christ sake. Why are you being like this? Your eyes drift again to Papyrus's tense expression but you shake your head again, just focus!

Papyrus's flat seems to be on the top floor but the elevator makes quick work of the distance. It's only when you both step out into the lobby that Papyrus somewhat notices the state you've worked yourself into.

"He'll like you," he says abruptly, almost blurting out the words in his rush to say them and to assure you. You notice this and smile up at him, eyes soft. He smiles back, eyes softer.

"YOU'RE LATE!"

You both jump, eyes snapping forward then downwards as a small skeleton glowers up at you. You blink several times in surprise at his appearance. Papyrus certainly wasn't kidding before about them being different. Where Papyrus is tall and lanky, Sans is short and stocky. He isn't overweight exactly but he somewhat resembles a barrel, a spikey, red and black barrel. Papyrus's brother is also very different in the face. Obviously both of them are skeleton monsters but Sans seems to have a less skeletal appearance with rounded cheeks, dagger like teeth, and red and blue ringed eyelights staring straight out at you from the shadowed caverns of his eye-sockets.

He seems to be giving you a once over too. By the look on his face, he's not overly impressed.

"...Why'd you have to get such a lanky human companion? Misery loves company huh?" He snarks out before turning on his heal, back into the flat.

You exchange a quick look with Papyrus, he lets out a strangely relieved sigh and smiles awkwardly at you again.

Why is he smiling? You wonder.

You follow Papyrus into the flat, looking around and taking in the neat surroundings, the wall full of weaponry and the occasional oil painti- wait, what?

You look back at the wall and your mouth falls open as you take it in. There is a morning star glinting softly in the cool light. There are several katanas above that, in order of size, from three feet long to over a metre. Then there are shortswords, longswords, polearms with axe like blades, blunt staves, throwing knives and several javelins. All of their handles show signs of wear...

You swallow dryly and turn away from the macabre display, entirely unsure of how to react to this, only to stop short as Sans stares up at you a mere foot away.

"Dinner is ready," is all he says, turning to go back to the kitchen only when you give a small nod of acknowledgement to his words.

Papyrus is slouching through the living room, not even looking at the wall like it is an entirely normal feature to have. You suppose it must be for him. Your eyes flicker back to the wall, then to the white line of weapons crowning the top of it, almost shaped like... bones? You force yourself to look away and keep going. This isn't what you expected but you can deal with it.

You find them both sat down when you enter the dining room, Papyrus is frowning slightly and Sans seems to look bored, blue and red eyes flickering from the ceiling of the room over to you with startling intensity. You meet his gaze and take a seat. The corners of his mouth quirk up slightly at this and you feel a small measure of the nerves inside you fade.

"Serve this out," he sharply barks at Papyrus, making the faint smile that was about to grace your face, melt away. You look around at Papyrus, he doesn't seem that bothered by Sans's tone and grabs your plate. You take a calming breath and force your hands to unclench.

"Thank you," you say to him. Papyrus nods faintly at you and you look back at Sans who is inspecting the back of his gloves. There's a long silence while Papyrus starts clattering with the plates and Sans ignores you. You decide to break it.

"So what do you do Sans? Do you work?"

He blinks, taking in your questions, then frowns. "Of course I work. I'm a lawyer at Northwood."

It's your turn to blink. "Really? I've heard of them, they've got a really good reputation. That's amazing."

There's a coughing sound behind you and you look up to see Papyrus covering his mouth, staring at his brother. You miss the smug smile that covers Sans's face for a moment and when you look back he's simply smirking at you.

"Yes, it is. It's suited to me perfectly. Almost as perfect as being captain of the Royal guard. I have to, of course, apply many of my multiple skills from my previous profession to this one but they transfer well. Such as my extensive knowledge of weaponry, which was very useful with my first homicide case where I-"

Sans starts to weave his tale as Papyrus sits back down next to you, idly picking at his food. You feel his hand softly weaving into yours under the table, offering you small comfort as you briefly smile at him and turn back to listen to Sans, still holding onto your friend's hand, unconsciously running the pad of your thumb across his knuckles.

"You're not eating enough," Sans tells you, interrupting his own story to suddenly frown at you. You jolt and drop Papyrus's hand like a hot coal, picking up your knife and fork to eat the, uh, tacos. Why did they give you cutlery for this?

You mentally shrug and copy Sans's eating style, using the knife to break off a shard of the taco and scrape both it and the mince onto your fork.

It's nice. It's really nice. Slightly too spicy for you but you're not going to complain. You nod slightly as you eat it and you think Sans is satisfied by this. His almost-smile soon becomes distant though.

"Papyrus tells me you work in an office," he says, nonchalantly picking at his food.

You frown softly and swallow, you guess this could be considered true. "I suppose I do, I work with maintenance and cleaning though."

His not-quite-a-smile is gone now as he considers you. "That doesn't earn much. I suppose it's not like you can do better though with your record."

"Sans," murmurs Papyrus in a low tone.

You barely hear him; you're fixated on watching as Sans smiles anew. It's the largest smile you've seen on him all evening.

"Battery huh?" He asks sweetly, both his eye lights flickering into a deep shade of red.

"Sans," says Papyrus, a little louder now.

"...It's not like that," you find yourself murmuring through numb lips, knife and fork clenched tightly in your hands.

"Liar."

Liar!

Everything seems a little too bright, a little too close. The cutlery clatters out of your hands onto the table. You want to shake your head of it but find you cannot move as air starts coming out in short and sharp bursts from your gently parted lips.

"Sans!"

Sans looks away from you, then to Papyrus with a belligerent frown. You don't see it though; you're having a hard time focusing on his face.

"No! Don't you see? He was acting before. Look at his face now, I was right. He was acting, lying. Why else would he help you? He wants something from you."

"That's... not... true..." you distantly hear yourself slur out. You are the only one to hear it though as Papyrus stands up to face Sans, not looking your way once as he tries to get Sans to calm down.

"No! Why do I have to be the one who's always looking out for you Paps?! You don't know a thing about this person and what they've done. He's an abuser! It's on his record!"

Papyrus just gives you a blank look that you barely register then turns back to his brother, saying nothing. This only seemed to make Sans angrier.

"Here I am protecting you again, Papyrus! Why do I have to do this? You never think about things like this, you **idiot**!"

Your throat feels burning hot and your lungs feel as if they are full of boiling water as you struggle to pull in breath after breath, hands tingling as they clench over the edge of your chair.

"Sans, calm down please."

There's a scraping slam of a chair being thrown back and Sans is stomping towards Papyrus, fists clenched and teeth set in a snarl, and you- you-

You don't register moving. All you know is that you're standing up between the two of them, arms outstretched as if to act as a shield. Your breathing is coming out hard and fast and you can feel cold sweat running down your face, mixing with the water beading down from your eyes. Sans no longer looks angry. His heated glare has fallen slack. His eyes are no longer filled with red, nor narrowed in distaste. All there is on his face is blank, wide eyed shock as you stand there, form unmoving, eyes unfocused but intent on his.

Someone's saying your name. You blink and come back to yourself, furiously rubbing the salty water from your face before looking back at Papyrus. His eyes are wide and brow deeply furrowed in confusion and some unnamed emotion which you cannot read. He doesn't look happy. You blink again, looking back at Sans who is just standing there, doing nothing, suddenly much smaller to you than he was a few moments ago.

"Excuse me," you murmur, walking away and out of the door, trying to keep your steps steady as you leave the flat.

You wait outside the door until Papyrus comes out. It takes a while. It gives you a chance to try to calm yourself down, throwing your head back against the cool, brick walls.

When he comes out, he's not happy. You can tell by the way he doesn't look at you right away, instead silently slouching against the wall across from you and looking down at his feet. You want to tread carefully but it's hard when your hands are still shaking and you feel like you've swallowed glass.

"What was that?" He finally says, waiting for you as you open, and close then open your mouth again and say what you feel must be said.

"…You have a nice flat but you don't want to go back to it." You tell him, looking him in the eye with an almost desperate, pleading expression. "You have enough money but you don't have enough food. You're often tired, like you haven't been able to sleep. And the cracks in your face? Your teeth that were ripped out?"

Papyrus's brow is rising and his mouth is falling slack as you move forward to take his hands in yours. "You don't have to live like that. You don't deserve to."

"...That's why you reacted like that?" He pulls his hands from yours and steps away. "You think Sans has-?!" He stops, not even being able to say those words as he looks at you like- like... You don't say anything as the expression on his face sinks in. He's looking at you like he doesn't know you, like you are someone new and horrible standing in the place of his friend.

You were wrong. Oh God, you were **wrong**. He's not like you at all. You are backing away slightly but he doesn't notice. He's too angry.

Oh god.

"Saying all those things like you know me? Like you know him? **You have no clue!"** He spits out, taking another step away from you as if he can't even stand to be near you. "People are always talking like that about Sans, judging him, getting him wrong, but I thought you'd be different."

You don't say anything.

"You have a messed up mind."

You can't say anything.

"... Just- just get out of here. Just go."

You go. You can't do anything else.

* * *

 _Warnings:_  
 _References to past abuse_  
 _Panic attacks_  
 _Reader being triggered_


	5. Chapter 5

_**I'm thinking of putting the side-fic out soon. Chapter one will go into a bit of detail about what Sans is talking about here. If anyone is particularly interested in exploring any perspectives or different parts of the story, you should check it out.**_

* * *

You call in sick the next day and just lie on your bed, staring up at the damp, cracked ceiling for what feels like hours. Then, when you finally feel up to sitting up, you just stare at the walls of your room, at the incomplete paintings and the few remaining pictures of your old friends and... your family.

For a moment you think of your dad's quiet chuckles and warm, encompassing hugs, and of your mum's rough voice, her little titters and her silly jokes. For a moment, you think about them and you forget about all the other things.

 _It's been over two years_ , you tell yourself. Your eyes drift over to your mobile.

 _Perhaps they have realised by now_ , you reason, picking up the device. You hesitate after dialling the number, sighing and dropping the phone onto your lap.

No, you've worked too hard to be weak now. You shouldn't-

"Hello? Hello? Who is this?" Comes a faint, scratchy voice. A faint, familiar scratchy voice.

You don't really know why you do it but you pick up the phone and put it to your ear, lips trembling slightly as you hear her ask who it is once more.

"...Hi mum," you whisper.

The connection hums quietly in your ear, the only sound to be heard is a short intake of breath and a long silence, heavy and piercing to your ears, then-

"Sweetie! Oh my god! Love! He called us! He's okay! Come quick!"

You feel a shaky smile forming on your lips as you hear your mum and dad crowd around the phone, their voices warbling slightly as they shift you to speaker, asking if you're well, if you've been eating alright, where you are...

"I, uh, I'm in a city now. Just passing through," you lie.

The questions go on: which city? Why won't you tell us? What are you doing? Do you have a job?

"Why did you just leave like that?" Your Dad asks, voice lower, heavy with righteous disappointment.

Your throat closes up and your hand tightens around the phone.

"I-I told you a-about-"

"You really upset us dear," your mother interrupts, not listening to you. "You upset everyone. It's been years. And Rosie! Poor Rosie. She was devastated! She still-"

You hang up.

You spend the rest of your day sat in bed, fingernails biting into your skin as you focus on your breathing exercises.

* * *

You cannot stay off sick from work forever. After your second day off, you get the bus in and get the bus back as usual. Papyrus isn't there. Nor is he there the day after, or the day after that.

Your parents ring every evening but you don't pick up. You send them a text a week later, saying that you're busy with work. You don't read their reply.

 _They don't know where I live_ , you tell yourself. _It's fine,_ you tell yourself.

Life continues, you go to work, you come home, you eat, you sleep. Time passes, albeit slowly, this way for just over a week.

Then you get the text.

 _'I miss you baby'_

The number is unknown to your phone. It doesn't belong to your parents. The dinner you had been carrying out of the kitchen slips from your numb fingers. You hardly register the sound of the plate smashing as you just stare at the string of digits until they start to blur.

 **You have made a mistake**.

* * *

You finally put on your day clothes, wash your face (your hands are shaking too much to shave right now), and leave your flat for something other than work for the first time in about a fortnight. You need to change your phone number.

When you reach the mall, the first thing you notice is Papyrus at the security desk. He's sat down, simply staring into space with a shuttered expression. His clothes look as tatty as ever, the soles of his work shoes are starting to peel off, and his furry coat is draped over the back of his chair, covered in stains. Your lips quirk up faintly at the sight of him before you remember. For a moment, you consider going up to him and telling him you're sorry, that you messed up and that you will never say anything or do anything like that ever again. Never again.

You can't find the courage to though. You don't think you can handle what he will say back to you. But you do have just enough courage to stop yourself from running, to hold yourself still and wait as his head turns in a slow steady sweep of his surroundings. You know he sees you standing there, his eye sockets narrow faintly, but he turns away as if he hadn't.

You nod to yourself, _r-right, yes, **understandable**_ , and walk on, steps dragging as you force your head to look straight ahead and not to turn back. You can't feel Papyrus's gaze on your back.

You go to the O2 shop and ask the girl behind the counter to change your number. It's going to take a few weeks and they will need you to send back that change of address form you requested as well.

"...'Change of address' form?" You ask.

The girl smiles and nods at you, swinging round the computer screen for you to see but you hardly even look at it; your phone is ringing. The number is unknown. You press cancel.

"You alright there Sir? You look a bit-"

"I'm fine." You keep yourself still and steady as you refocus your gaze on the computer, the squiggle of your signature and the... wait. "The date on this is wrong. I moved to this address about two years ago."

"Must be a reprint floating around or something," murmurs the girl, scratching the back of her head. "Sorry about that. I'll get to the bottom of this and contact you when we've sorted this out."

The phone rings again and your face becomes a mask as you nod and leave, unseeing of everything as you stumble out of the store and push your way through the many people jostling through the mall.

Someone from the crowd hits you on the shoulder as you push through and it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling as your breaths grow shorter and tighter and you find yourself running.

When you get back to the flat, chest heaving and throat burning with the cloying taste of iron, you have a new text:

 _'I forgive you.'_

You lock the door and slump forward onto it, breath hitching and a small dry sob echoes through your empty home.

* * *

In the end, there is no one to shake you out of your stupor or tell you to pick yourself up. Like before, you have to be the one to do it. You make yourself move to the mirror of your bathroom and stare long and hard into your own eyes.

"You're not doing this again," you whisper as you force yourself smile at the bags under your eyes, your unshaven chin, your lying grin. Your smile falters slightly, fading away, and instead you meet your eyes. _You cannot let this happen again. You **are** **not** going to let this happen again._

You leave the bathroom and your reflection, go to your laptop and start searching for your way out. You nod to yourself and make a decision. But first you need to fix at least one thing. First you need to meet with Sans.

* * *

To say Papyrus's brother is surprised when you enter his office is an understatement. He drops the towering stack of folders he is carrying, paper fountaining up over his strangely conservative black suit as he openly ogles at you. He then takes a deep breath in, opens his mouth and-

" **Get. Out.** "

You do what he says, quietly shutting his office door behind you and standing just to the side of it.

You wait, watching the skittish receptionist warily watch you back as he goes about his business. Ten minutes later Sans comes out and glares at the receptionist then at you. You mildly meet his glare with a blank expression.

" _Why are you **still** here_?"

"I want to talk with you," you tell him.

His mouth scrunches up to the side and he turns his face away for a second before looking back at you with a shadowed expression in his void like eyes.

"Why the fuck would I want to talk to you? Get out of here."

You sigh, nod and walk away.

"And I mean out of the building! Not just this room."

You pause, nod again and make your way out to wait just outside the office block's front doors, standing ramrod straight with eyes darting from person to person as they pass by on the streets before you.

It takes half an hour of waiting before Sans is standing in front of you again, looking pissed off.

" _ **Fine**! Fine_ _then_! Let's talk."

He storms past you and leads you to a nearby park, away from the nosy parkers of his work place who had been staring at you out of the windows for a while.

You sit next to him on a bench and quietly say what you came to say: "I'm sorry."

"You're only apologising to get close to Papyrus again," he states, frail fingers clenched into fists and red eye lights intense on your face.

You meet his gaze again and shake your head. "There's no point in doing that. I'm not going to see him again."

Sans blinks, the red glow of his eye lights dimming somewhat as you continue to explain:

"I've been looking for jobs in another city and will be leaving in less than a month."

You both sit quietly for a moment as you let him mull this over. You wait, watching your surroundings for familiar faces.

"...Why?"

You stare at a couple walking hand in hand in the distance, eyes trailing over the way they move together, hand in hand, the way they smile in unison, staring happily into each other's eyes.

For a moment, you consider telling Sans about the texts, phone numbers and why your eyes are shadowed from lack of sleep.

"I have my own reasons for this," is what you end up saying.

"Is it me?" He blurts out, hands tight on his lap and pointed teeth clenched. "I didn't realise you'd take all that stuff so hard. You were acting so normally, I had to see why you got that assault charge."

You look at him in surprise, shaking your head with a faint, almost invisible, smile.

"I get why you thought of me like that. I do. It's not you, really. It's me."

He scoffs at that. "Is that the cliché you're going with?"

 _There's no way out of this without explaining is there?_

"... Look," you sigh. You pull the turtle neck down to reveal the white swirling scars dotting from the base of your throat and along your collar bone. You force yourself not to look up at him as you shakily remove the fake nails on your right hand to show the juddering broken mess beneath. Then you hesitate, hands coming up to your mouth and freezing before you shake yourself- he won't understand if you don't show him- and take the bridge from your mouth, your lips sinking in slightly from the lack of support.

There is a sharp inhale and you finally look up. Sans is staring at you, his mouth has lightly parted, his brow furrows and unfurrows as if he's not quite sure how to react to this.

"It's not you. I thought Papyrus was like me. I was projecting on him... and you," you tell him, wondering if he'll laugh at the slight lisp in your voice.

He doesn't laugh. For a moment you see something in his face you never expected. Then the moment is gone, and the expression is replaced by blank apathy so fast that you wonder if you imagined the glimpse of horrified compassion you saw there. You look down at your distorted nails and hesitantly open your mouth to speak again.

"Sorry, I'm used to- well, you said some things and they reminded me of someone and I got- I got lost in my own head thinking like that, but I know now you're not really like that. Papyrus's reaction was proof of that. You were just looking out for your brother," you murmur and put the bridge back in, clip the nails back on, and straighten out your top.

Sans clears his throat (a sharp little wheezing clip of a cough) waiting until you meet his gaze again to finally say something.

"That's not all of it is it?" He asks blandly.

You shake your head.

"So the battery charge...?" He trails off as you let out a deep breath and stare up at the clouded sky.

He looks vaguely thoughtful for a moment, then he taps at the three scars running down his eye, making a faint wince-inducing sound of bone scraping on bone that pulls you back down to earth.

"I got the first two when I was a brat, went outside the house by myself, just for a bit. When Paps found me and brought me back. I then got the third from our father," he taps the third, deeper crack spreading across his eye and meets your wide-eyed gaze. You hesitantly nod. He doesn't want you to say sorry or anything so you don't say it. He leans back and looks away with a crease in his brow and lips in a tight line .

"There's a few more I've got and a few more I would have got if Papyrus hadn't been there. Same goes for him. Even we require backup... on occasion."

You don't say anything and he continues, seemingly talking to himself more than to you.

"My _fool_ of a brother... can get defensive of me and he's not good at sharing his scars. Especially the ones I can't see," he turns to face you again. "You have to lead with example with that one, only then, perhaps, will you have a chance."

Your lips quirk up slightly, in a twisted mockery of a smile. You know you're not going to get this chance. You won't talk to Papyrus. There'd be no point, you tell yourself.

Your phone starts ringing and your sad smile falls as the unknown number flashes up once more. Sans notices this but is smiling benignly as you look up at him and as you consider him for a moment.

"You're amazing," you tell him. He blinks twice, obviously not expecting you to say that. "Thank you, really, I don't know if I would've been half as forgiving in your shoes."

" _You_ _are_ ," he tells you, not missing a beat as he gazes up at you. He seems to catch himself though and is quickly back to scowling again, huffing out an irritable sigh as he abruptly stands up. "I'd better get back to work."

You nod and stand to leave, trying not to tense as a string of texts starts buzzing from your pocket.

His blue eye-lights flicker down to the pocket then up to you but he makes no comment other than a quick, jerked nod of goodbye.


	6. Chapter 6

_**I. GOT. FANART! KINAESTHETIC. YOU. SWEETIE!**_  
 _ **kinaesthetic . deviantart art / Walk - me - home - 705247074?ga _ submit _ new = 10%3A1505802631 & ga _ type = edit & ga _ changes = 1 & ga _ recent = 1**_  
 _ ***from the incoherent babble of screams, you can just about distinguish the words 'look' 'look at it' and 'ohmygod'***_

 _ **Also, on a side note (heh heh) I've published my side-fic. It's called 'To be Strong' I'm still coming up with ideas to add to this fic but it's mainly following Papyrus's perspective of past events and his take on the things that happen in this story. There's a bit of Sans in there as well and maybe some other characters. If anyone has anything they'd specifically like to see, please let me know :)**_

 _ **Otherwise, on with the story ;) hope you like it xxxx**_

* * *

You shouldn't read the texts. You know what they'll say. You read them anyway and _God you **wish** you hadn't_.

You want to take another evening off work to send off more job applications, to see if you can leave earlier than a month, but you can't. You've used all your sick days up. So you get back on that bus, you get back to work, and you get back on with life. You put your phone in one of the lockers there and try not to flinch when you hear the echoing buzz calling after you.

When you get on the bus home, seven hours later, both weary in body and in mind, you vaguely notice the busbastard is driving today. You think he makes some sort of snide comment about the skeleton ditching you with a cruel turn to his thin lips. You are hardly listening though, you just ignore him.

You take your usual place and look down next to you at the empty seat there. You sit there staring at it for a long time. Distantly, you feel the bus slowing as if to stop but only for a moment before it speeds up. Someone's laughing. You don't really register it. You're too busy thinking.

You think of the fact that there is no one sitting next to you, just an empty space; an empty space that seems to follow you everywhere. You think of your phone that has been ringing. You think of the number that needs to be changed, then you think of that change of address form that you never took out...

For how long you sit there, lost in your thoughts, you do not know. It's only on autopilot that you click the button for your stop and make your way to the front. The bus doors open and your mind finally clears as you stand there, looking out into the dense, dank darkness. A bitter wind whispers through the streets, dragging empty beer cans and packets of crisps along the concrete with slow, scratching, scraping sounds. The current of air suddenly and sharply swells into a gust and a metal bin lid clatters from somewhere in the distance, the jarring crash of it echoed by the yowling of stray cats. Your hands unconsciously tighten into fists and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

"Get the _fuck_ off," growls out a voice from behind you, making you jolt and stumble off the bus into that darkness. The doors slam shut in your face as you spin around and watch the bus driver sneering and revving the vehicle off.

The only sound to be heard now is the distant, fading rumble of the bus and the quick sharp breaths hissing out from between your teeth... Then there is another sound. It's muffled and faint and almost sounds like footsteps and **You. Are. Running.**

Your breath is coming hard and harsh from your chest, hot from your lips, like a plume of scalding steam as you pound along the pathways and race through the dark. The loose pavement catches at your feet and sends you sprawling, ripping at your jeans, and scratching at your hands but you're quick to jump up, to scramble from the dirt and dust to push yourself forward, almost tripping over your own legs as you force yourself to move, to run, to get away.

Twenty minutes in the dark become ten as graffitied walls flash past you, barely registering in your mind, and as your frantic steps echo noisily in the empty underpasses.

As your flat complex comes into sight, you realise the echo from the underpass has followed you. You can't breathe. Oh god. You can't pound up the stairs, past each floor, until you reach the door to your home, fumbling at the lock and youcan'tbreatheyoucan'tbreatheyoucan't-

A hand comes down on your shoulder.

You jump and spin around, slamming violently into the door with wild eyes. Papyrus steps back in alarm.

"P-Papyrus?" You breathe, air flooding into your lungs and almost making you collapse with the sudden, all-encompassing feeling of relief. Your shoulders slump and your arms fall back to your side as your heartbeat steadies and slows. A relieved half-smile almost works its way onto your face until you _remember_ and you shakingly push it down. You put on a calmer expression, trying to steady your panting and subtly wipe your eyes dry, but you still find your gaze flickering around your shadowed surroundings, a faint twitch to your frame belying the sense of nervousness you can still feel. "W-what are you doing here?" You ask, voice seemingly calmer but for the slight stutter to it.

He doesn't answer you straight away. He's turning his head to look around. He stares out into the darkness for a few moments before turning back to you, letting out a tight breath.

"Can I come in?" he simply asks.

You nod and, now that you are calmer, you open the door with ease. He follows you in, eyes taking in the state of your flat: the overflowing bin, the old instant meal pots you haven't tidied up, the broken plate, the food staining the carpet, then, finally, you. You who probably looks the worst of the lot with your unshaven chin, shadowed eyes and crumpled clothing. You hurriedly lock the door, put on the latch and peer out your cracked peep hole, then finally turn to face him, unsure of what to say or do as Papyrus just stands there, not five feet away.

"You went to see my brother."

You blink, caught off guard.

"I, uh, yeah."

"He wouldn't tell me much of what you said. Just that you wanted to say sorry to him..."

You flounder for a moment, unsure exactly of what to say. You have a chance as Sans said. You should talk with him, maybe make him understand... you have to do this. You push down at the fear still lingering in your chest and in your mind and take a deep breath. You don't want to mess this up.

"I went to say sorry and to explain myself. I- I was wrong and I made a mistake. I thought you-" you cut off, meeting Papyrus's steady gaze. "I thought someone was hurting you and when everything happened I panicked... but that's not an excuse for what I said about your brother and I shouldn't have done that and I just- I just got really scared and I put two and two together and got five."

You look away again, unable to keep his gaze for too long. "I'm sorry that I was the one who ended up doing the hurting."

The kitchen clock ticks deafeningly loud, almost as loud as the thudding of your heart as you try to lift your leaden eyes from the carpet. It's only when you finally manage to look up that Papyrus speaks.

"...Sans also said that you're thinking of moving away."

You nod hesitantly. He takes this in with a thoughtful expression, then he moves closer to you, barely inches away from your body.

"P-Papyrus, what-?"

" _What can I do to make you stay?_ "

The words on your lips slip away like wisps of smoke and you look up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. He slowly brings his hands up to cradle the sides your face, a small smile on his jaw as you unconsciously lean into his burning touch.

"Apart from Sans, I don't think anyone's ever said sorry to me before. I don't think anyone's ever tried to defend me before, even if they didn't need to," his thumb trails over your jaw as he threads his other hand into your hair and takes in a warm, steady breath. "I remember that night. You helped me. You took me into your home. You let me in and never once asked for something back, and I just let you go? I messed up too. I got so angry and I told you to leave and I didn't even try to see it from your side. I didn't see you. You... you're astounding. How could I want you to go?"

Your breath is quickening from your chest and your face is frozen, immobile as his thumb hovers across your lips, not quite touching but radiating heat like a furnace.

"I'm sorry it took me only until this moment to really get it," he breathes, leaning in.

He stops just short though, gazing at you, waiting. You don't move for a moment, simply meeting his hollow eyes... Wait. Not completely hollow. Two grey, almost black, lights look out at you. His gaze is not empty. Merely hidden. You never realised.

You lean forward.

It's softer than you would have thought. Kissing teeth is something you never let yourself consider before this moment. But now there's nothing else but them in your mind. They are warm, warm like a bath is warm, warm like a beam of sunlight is warm. A sigh curls at your lips as he tilts his head. His arms drift down from your face, encircling your back instead. You hardly notice as he pulls you closer.

Eventually it ends as all good things do. But, as your eyes flicker open and you see the bright orange flush on his cheek bones and the overjoyed smile on his jaw, you find you don't mind too much. You don't really know what to say. So you say nothing. You simply smile at him, unconsciously encircling your arms around his back to mirror him.

"Will you stay?" He asks.

...What should you say? His hands are stroking up your spine now, hot and almost scorching through your shirt to your icy skin. The silence grows, hot and fuzzy, as you try to clear your mind and think.

There's a distant buzzing sound of your phone and it takes a few moments for it to register in your hazy mind. When it does, the fog in your head is blown away. Your arms drop like leaden weights and your smile wilts as you step back, out of his arms.

"I've got issues," you tell him.

"I've gathered that," he returns, staying carefully still, giving you your space.

"I hurt you."

"So have I."

"I won't be able to hold a good job."

"Neither can I."

You blink at him as he stands resolute before you, matching every excuse you give. You try again.

"My front teeth are fake."

"Got a few fake teeth myself."

"I- I've got scars on my neck and back. I look hideous under these clothes."

"Lemme be the judge of that."

You bark out a startled laugh, abruptly clapping your hand over your mouth. He chuckles quietly with you, taking your hands in his and away from your face. His raspy snickers are soft as he leads you to your sofa.

You laugh your strange, broken laugh once again at the dirty look he sends the broken frame as it rattles under your weight and the metal spring that juts halfway out of the material. He isn't distracted for long though and softly pulls you away from the more broken side, against him, letting your head rest against his ribs as he slowly breathes in and out.

Your fingers spread out against the warm yellow jumper he is wearing, nails weaving along the pattern, half disbelieving that he's actually here, in your arms. Your phone stops ringing, making the hushed quiet heavier and warmer for the absence of its call.

"The last relationship I was in was... bad. I- I still have some things I need to sort out."

Papyrus hums softly underneath you, the vibrations shaking you softly as you close your eyes.

"...I can wait."

You lay there, quietly inhaling and exhaling the soft powdery smell of sugar and smoke from his clothes.

"Thank you," you murmur as your eyes drift shut. " **Really**. Thank you."

You think he says something to that but it is lost on you as the tension unwinds from your frame, exhaustion sweeping over you as you quietly doze in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunlight wavers and drifts through the warped glass of your bedroom window as your eyes slowly drift open. You find that you are no longer on the lumpy, broken sofa that you had fallen asleep on last night, but instead are lying on your side on your lumpy, single bed, back pressed back flat against the wall, feeling both warm and calm as the sunlight washes over you.

You don't wonder whether you dreamed up the kiss from last night or falling asleep in Papyrus's arms. You know straight away that it was no dream. If the soft echo to your breathing and the arms securely wrapped around your waist are not evidence enough, the skull buried in your stomach is definitely the clincher.

 _He's still wearing his jacket_ , you find yourself thinking for lack of any other thoughts to grasp.

You run your fingers over the material. It is obviously fake; the plastic strands are matted and melted together and the texture is both rough and frazzled. They're tinged with yellow and black and you find yourself wondering what the original shade was.

You close your eyes, taking in the feeling of the coarse, lumpy fur under your fingertips and the warmth seeping through your shirt into your body. You can hear the muffled clicking of the kitchen clock, the distant chatter of your neighbours getting ready for a day of work and the soft huffs of air stoking at your belly.

You open your eyes again and gaze down at him. That heat from your stomach bubbles up into your chest and to your face, pulling your lips up into a simple, happy smile.

His skull is soft under your fingertips as you ghost your hand across the crown of his head, slowly circling unseen patterns onto the bone. You find your gaze drifting as the call for sleep sluggishly pulls at your mind and you don't notice that your light movements have settled into broad, heavier strokes. Neither do you notice the small shift in Papyrus's breathing. You do notice when he looks up at you though, his arms loosening slightly as the heat leaves your belly.

"Morning," you sleepily murmur to him, your cheeks warm and smile warmer.

He doesn't say anything, his grey eye-lights fixed on your face. Then, without warning, you're flat on your back and he is on top of you, kissing you deeply.

"Morning," he breathes into your parted mouth. You squeak slightly as he leans back in.

After the initial shock fades, you meet him enthusiastically but he doesn't speed up his movements, simply pressing himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you and languidly rolling his hips into yours; just bringing you as close to him as he can.

Your movements slow with his as he parts his mouth gently, as if asking permission. You smile under his kiss and you feel him mirror your action before he pushes in again and-

\- and hesitates.

You blink up at him as he pulls back, you can see the grey eye lights in his sockets turn down and dim almost to black.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "Forgot to take it slow."

There is a beat of silence and you slowly find yourself nodding. With everything happening recently, it probably isn't a good idea to rush this, even if part of you wants to... even if part of you really wants to. You're glad he's thinking about this though. You're glad about a lot of things.

He smiles softly as you peck him on the cheekbone and nod again, slipping out from underneath him to clamber off the bed and find some fresh clothes. You feel happy, almost like you could sing, as you sort your way through shirts and jumpers. You look over your shoulder to catch him watching you before he blinks at you and abruptly looks away, lying flat on his back to stare up at your broken ceiling.

You eye up his crumpled jumper and the hole filled socks he's wearing, then pick up a white turtleneck and a pair of grey socks from your draw and toss it onto him, smiling slightly as he jerks in surprise.

"You're a bit broader than me in the shoulders but I think that might fit if you want some fresh clothes."

He just blinks at you as you leave to change in the bathroom with a large smile on your face.

 _Maybe if I just trade in my phone or move somewhere else in the city it'll be fine?_ You find yourself pondering as you change. You could keep your doors locked for now, not opening them for anyone but Papyrus, you have the next two days off and by then maybe you can get a room in a hostel somewhere. You smile anew, leaving the bathroom. Yeah, you can do this.

"I have a morning shift today."

You jolt looking sharply up and to your right as Papyrus stops leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, standing up straight instead, and scratches embarrassedly at the back of his neck. Your eyes drift over the coat looped over his arm and your clothes he is now wearing. The seams are pulled tight across the shoulders and it sags in across the stomach but you find yourself smiling at the image. You like seeing him in your clothes. Then what he said finally sinks in. He's leaving.

"Oh, right, yeah."

"I, uh- you working tonight?" he asks with an unusual hint of nerves in his voice.

You tell him you're not and he smiles. "See you soon then."

Then, all too soon, he's leaving your flat, the door softly clicking behind him, and once more you're alone. It's silent. Your smile stays on your face for a good while as you stand, unmoving as you relive last night in your mind, feeling the phantom heat of his touch on your face and the echo of his kiss on your lips.

The heat starts to fade. The clock starts to tick too loudly. There's the slow stomp of a neighbours footsteps, the sound of it suddenly deafening and painful to your ears. Your smile slowly falls away.

Three knocks suddenly sound on your door. Two fast, one hesitant. Breath comes hard and fast from your lips as you edge to the peep hole and look out, only for your tense frame to melt away and a smile to consume your face once more.

"Papyrus, what are you-?" You start to ask when you open the door but are cut off as he crashes into your mouth, making you yelp.

"Sorry," he murmurs as you pull back, laughing at his enthusiasm and rub your slightly bruised lips before you lean in and kiss him back.

It takes you both a few minutes to break apart and, when you do, you're lost for words.

Papyrus isn't though, "come with me."

* * *

Papyrus holds your hand the whole time as you walk with him to his work place. It's surprisingly close to your place. His boney thumb gently sweeps across your knuckles and his fingers weave in with yours. He only lets it go when he has sat you down in one of the seats of the cafe. You smile at him curiously as he disappears into the back and comes out moments later sporting a green apron and a faint amber dusting on his cheeks.

 _So this is his other job._

He wastes no time setting you up with a coffee and a cinebunnie as he sets up behind the counter.

By rights, you should be bored. You don't have anything to read or even a piece of paper to doodle on. You're not though. You spend your time slowly sipping on your drink, watching as Papyrus deals with the early morning rush of customers with monosyllabic responses and a bland almost-smile, which breaks into a larger one every time he catches your gaze. Despite the rush of people though, Papyrus seems to be next to you almost constantly, slipping over to chat with you whenever there is a lull in customers and going on break more often than you would have expected. Every time he comes, he gets you a new drink or snack, asking you to try them out for him. After the second time you start leaving half of each dish for him when he pops down, watching him expectantly until he takes a bite as well.

"Just take your boy and get out of here, moron. You're no use here like this," snaps a dark, grey-haired woman from across the counter after the second hour of this farce. You both jolt and look around at her as she fights down a smile as tuts at Papyrus. "I'll cover for you _this time_ , but remember, you owe me."

Papyrus doesn't need telling twice as he dumps his apron on the lady's arm and shoots out of there like a cork from a bottle, his hand wrapped gently round yours as you're pulled along in his wake.

"She seems nice," you tell him when he finally slows down after losing site of the place.

"She's... yeah, she helped me get that job," Papyrus thoughtfully agrees, smiling at you again and glancing down at your hands woven in with his.

For the next few hours or so, you both walk around the city. You don't talk about too much and neither does he, but you're both content as you stroll up avenues and along the city parks, trying to speed up your pace to match Papyrus and Papyrus trying to slow his long strides to meet yours. Now and then, one of you suggests to do something like a film or a cafe, but ultimately neither of you really want to do anything but walk together through the warm afternoon sun into the dwindling evening light.

You both pause, looking out at the setting sun, and you sigh. You suppose you had better be getting back to the fl-

"Come back with me," Papyrus interrupts your thoughts. "Spend the night at mine."

You swallow loudly, looking up at him, trying to meet his averted gaze. You want to ask if he's sure, that perhaps that isn't a good idea, that the last time you went there, it didn't end well. But you see the way he's looking at you now and those words evaporate off your tongue. All you can do is nod.

* * *

The apartment is quiet when you enter, Papyrus flicks on the lights and dumps his coat on a chair.

"Is Sans not in?" You ask.

"He's out. Dunno why," he tells you, motioning you to take a seat on one of the pristine white sofas as he heads to the kitchen... Wait. Is Papyrus planning on cooking for you?

"You, uh, need any help in there?" You call, trying to hide the hint of worry in your voice.

"I've got it."

He has not 'got it'. He sets the fire alarm off twice but it looks like he's having fun by the grin on his face as he bats down the flames coming from the saucepans, so you don't say much as you hover by the door with the fire extinguisher firmly in your line of sight.

You sit back down when he brings in the...? You're not sure exactly what it is, just that it's grey, black and green and looks almost like barbecued bubble wrap. You're not one to be rude though, so you hack off a forkful and put it in your mouth.

It's awful.

Papyrus laughs at you as you do your best to eat it, then he passes you a sandwich seemingly out of nowhere. The bread is roughly cut at the edges and the peanut butter filling is dripping out slightly but even Papyrus can't mess up a sandwich too badly.

You snort when you notice Papyrus has got loads of the stuff on his teeth and move to rub it off for him, freezing halfway when he takes a hold of your wrist and presses your fingers against his teeth.

There is a long moment when you hold still, just watching him kiss the tips of your fingers, then you're leaning forward and capturing his mouth in a kiss.

All thoughts of food are forgotten as you push forward, your broad, soft hands cradling Papyrus's face as you press your lips to his teeth, delighting in the soft sigh against your lips as you make to slowly draw back. Papyrus doesn't let you though, one hand suddenly on your hip and shifting you closer to him, and the other resting just below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as his breath mingles with yours. He leans in and your eyes slip closed, only to jolt open as you feel something trace at the seam of your lips.

"Your lips taste like peanut butter," he murmurs and, for some reason, you find this hilarious. You laugh, you bury your head in the crook of his neck and you laugh and you laugh, feeling his chest hitch underneath you in his own strange, rumbling, growling giggles.

He cups your face again, lifting it up and pressing kisses all over your faces as you continue to snort and splutter out you laughter, crying out for mercy, lightly batting at him with your hands as he kisses you onto your back on the sofa.

He just chuckles again, louder this time and takes your hands to stop your mock hits, raising them above your head and-

Your laughter stops. The world constricts. All you can feel is your hands, held tight. You _can't_. _You_ \- _you_ \- **you breathe in.** There is smooth leather under you. **You breathe out**. The air smells of spice and burnt sugar and peanuts. **Breathe in**. Your hands feel warm against your chest. **Breathe out**. You are starting to hear properly again.

"-ok at me. It's okay. I've let go. You're fine. You hear me? _Y_ o _u're fine_."

You blink, Papyrus has moved back from you, his hands by his side and nowhere near you as he waits and watches. You exhaustedly push yourself up with tremoring hands into a sitting position.

"Sorry," you murmur shakily, trying to stop your gulping breaths. "I don't know why I reacted like- I- I mean, I know why but I didn't expect that..."

Papyrus doesn't say anything for a few moments. "Can I touch you?" He asks.

You nod, still not looking at him, and he slowly and obviously shuffles next to you, simply pressing his leg against yours and holding out his hand for you to take. He lets out a tight breath of relief as you put your hand in his, running your fingers over heated bone and concentrating on the heat bursting from the contact.

"I haven't-" you start, before stopping and taking in a deep breath. "It's been a while since that's happened. I'm sorry."

"...I've had a few of those before, panic attacks. Not around anyone but Sans," he tells you. You're eyes flicker up from the embrace of his and your hands, to his face for a moment, then you look down and open your mouth to try to explain yourself.

"There's, uh, some things I can't- that I don't like. L-like not being able to move and uh being held too tight."

Papyrus is quiet as he takes this in for a few moments, before he shifts slightly, facing you head on. "I don't like being touched when I'm not expecting it or staying still in open spaces."

"Being called babe or baby... or love," you return, forcing those words through your stiff lips.

"I don't like being called love either."

"The words: idiot and liar."

"... when things are too quiet."

"The smell of alcohol."

"The smell of blood."

"Pain."

"Dust."

You both fall into silence, sitting there on the sofa and gazing at your entwined hands.

"Thank you," you murmur, slowly and obviously leaning into him.

"...Same to you," he returns quietly, wrapping his arm across you in a loose hold.


	8. Chapter 8

It is the next morning and Sans has come back. You can tell by the muffled swearing and his calls for Papyrus to explain the mess in the kitchen. It's what wakes you both up.

You blink sleepily as Papyrus shifts next to you, letting go of your hand as he exhaustedly rubs at his face. Your fingers curl in on themselves, unconsciously seeking that warmth again. You yawn and roll onto your back and force your eyes to stay open.

You're no longer in the living room. You're staring up at a dusty artex ceiling on a queen sized bed with musty smelling sheets and a single duvet wrapped around your feet. Papyrus must have walked you here when you fell asleep like last night; much like you once did for him, and much like he had done countless other times for you. The mattress dips down slightly as Papyrus shifts and tries to push himself up and off it.

"Need some help?" You ask, eyes crinkling with mirth as he sends you a tired look.

"Yes," he deadpans and you lean over to give him a light shove on the back. It doesn't really work. He gives you an amused look now.

A peculiar burst of confidence fills you, fuelled by Papyrus's smile.

"I'll kiss you if you get up," you bribe him. He gets up, smirking down at you as you laugh and push yourself up too, wincing at the bad taste of morning breath on your tongue. Ugh, you slept with your bridge on again.

"Hold it on that kiss, you got any mints or something?"

He pauses and looks around for a few moments, brow scrunched up in thought. He turns and clambers over a pile of battered DVD boxes and tosses you a pack of bubblegum from one of the numerous overflowing surfaces around his room. It's been opened but it looks like only one piece has been taken. You chew carefully with your back teeth, smiling at the idea of him trying the stuff out but not being able to blow bubbles.

He also tosses you one of his jumpers, a black one this time... at least you hope it was black originally. It smells alright though. You strip off your top when he has his back turned and, as fast as a flash, cover yourself with the warm material before he can turn back.

He's wearing another of his yellow jumpers and you realise you missed watching him change too. You don't think about this for too long though as he's taking your hands and pulling you up to lightly kiss you.

The door slams open making you swallow your gum in surprise. You both turn to face the doorway, still holding each other as you take in Sans's look of disgruntled disgust.

"Stop smooching and get your breakfast, you lovesick morons," he tells you both before turning about and stomping off to the kitchen. Your lips quirk up slightly, mentally likening his grumpy expression with your own whenever you caught your parents kissing as a child. You push that thought away in favour of watching Papyrus give a resigned sigh. He follows his big brother, his hand still entwined with yours, pulling you along.

You all sit in the living room, unspokenly staying clear of the kitchen.

"You better not stain this sofa, idiots. You're lucky I was able to get that stupid nut paste out," Sans mutters as he passes you both a plate each with a perfect, folded omelette on it. It's worlds away from what Papyrus had once tried to make you, both in appearance and taste. It's really good, a bit spicy for you again, but cooked really well.

"Thank you, Sans," you say, voice reflecting your gratitude for more than just the food. "This is really good."

Sans smiles happily, grouchy look fading away as if it was never there.

"Of course it's good. I have only the highest eggspectations for my food," he giggles before cutting off his own laughter with a frown. You chuckle and grin at this and his frown melts away into a softer smile. Papyrus pauses in his eating to watch you both, the corners of his jaw turning up. He hides it behind forkfuls of food.

"Give me your phone, human," Sans tells you, once your quiet laughter has died down. "This is in case of emergency only," he tells you as he puts in their house number. "You're not to hog the line with my brother."

You nod, taking your phone back and smiling when you see what he's put as the contact name.

'The Magnanimous Sans (and brother)'

Your eyes flicker from the name to the time on your phone and you sigh. You really need to get back to the flat. You don't want to leave but you've only got one day to pack up, search up a hostel to stay in, and perhaps find some renting agencies before you have to go back to work tomorrow.

"I need to get back to mine," you sigh, picking up the plate to wash on autopilot, only for Sans to yank it out of your hand and go wash it himself, talking to you all the while.

"You don't need to leave at all," he tells you. "Both you and Papyrus are not working today."

You force yourself to look past the fact that Sans knows your work schedule, and send Papyrus a look.

"...Let's go out then, if we both have the day off," Papyrus says, meeting your gaze then turning back to Sans as he marches back in.

"Excellent idea," Sans grins. "I recommend Napstaton's world renowned restaurant for dinner tonight, although it is probably booked solid... Ah! But his Jazz-Metal Cafe has free spaces during the day as you cannot book there. I'm sure he doesn't mind public smooching either so you can do it there and not around me," he added on with a flourish and a none-so subtle wink to Papyrus who had gone slightly orange in the face.

"Sure thing bro," Papyrus murmurs, turning to you as you will yourself to stop contemplating your shoes and to stop looking happily embarrassed. "Let's go."

* * *

"I really should go," Papyrus mumbles against your lips as you both stand just inside of your apartment half an hour later, front door slightly ajar and letting a slight breeze weave between your tangled legs.

"Yeah," you murmur, not moving. Papyrus smiles at this. You can't see it, but you can tell by the way the corners of his sockets crinkle and the way his grey eye-lights flare a soft white for a moment.

"You've got stuff you need to do," he adds on, tilting his head to capture your lips again.

"Mmhmm," you hum your agreement, returning his kiss with a flurry of little pecks against his teeth. He starts to snicker, his chest heaving against yours as he firmly, but softly, grips your shoulders and moves you back a small distance.

"You're making this very hard."

"Sorry," you smile up at him, not looking very sorry at all as you lean back into his space again, stand up on your tiptoes and plant a large kiss slap bang in the middle of his grin.

His chuckles grow into full blown laughter. "No, no, you said you needed to do things. I'm going, really I'm going. I'll see you tomorrow." He moves back towards the door but then pauses and turns around to give you one last peck on the lips before quickly slouching off.

You shout after him but you're laughing, face a vibrant red as you watch him wave to you and stroll down the stairs. The smile on your face aching and almost painful in its size, but you wouldn't get rid of it for the world.

* * *

Seven hours after your watched Papyrus saunter off, you're _still_ smiling to yourself.

After _finally_ finding a cheap hostile to stay at, and letting your irritated landlord know about your abrupt departure, you have been spending most of the last few hours trying to pack. 'Trying' being the optimal word as you've frequently been pausing with a large goofy grin on your face before realising you have stopped whatever task you had been doing, shaking yourself and starting it again, only for the exact same thing to happen five minutes later. It takes you a much longer time than necessary but you finally have a suitcase full of your most cherished possessions ready in your bedroom.

Next order of business: looking for a more permanent place to stay. You know you won't find a deal as good as this flat again. Your landlord had rented it to you for cheap in return for tidying up the toxic waste dump left by the last tenant. He didn't even bother to take a deposit from you, it was in such a bad shape. It's unlikely that you'll find another place like this, but the thought does little to dampen your mood with the way your mind keeps flittering back to the smell of smoke and the feeling of soft hurried kisses against your lips. You half-skip, half-dance into your living room, picking up your laptop and making to open it when-

 **Three knocks. Two fast, one hesitant.**

Your hands still as you twist to face the front door, grinning anew and full of elated joy.

 _He's back!_

For a moment, you wonder why he's back now when he said he'd see you tomorrow, but ultimately you don't care. You put down the laptop and rush to the door, pulling it open, ready to-

Your smile freezes. Everything freezes. It's not Papyrus.

It's her.

It's Rose.

It's your wife.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Warnings (SPOILERS):**_  
 _ **Violence, gaslighting, manipulative behaviour, bodily injury, concussion, domestic abuse, consent issues, past sexual abuse, attempted rape.**_

* * *

"Oh my god! You're okay!" Rose exclaims, rushing forward as you try to slam the door shut and taking you into her soft embrace.

The door bounces back off the wall from the force of her movement, slamming back into the frame as you rip yourself from her arms and skitter back, hands held up in front of your face in a defensive position.

She looks at you in utter confusion. "What are you doing babe? I'm here to get you. Let's go home."

You can't talk. You can barely force your lungs to take in air.

 _She's let her hair grow out_ , you find yourself thinking as you look at her. She's smiling at you with that little dimple to the right of her glossy lips. There's no teeth to it, no soft hint of irritation, no subtle twist. She smiles at you like you are her everything and you feel your hands start to shake.

You take another step back.

"I'm so sorry I didn't get here earlier love. You've been living like this for all these years?" She asks, looking around at your home that you had spent so long planning for, working for. She looks around it with pity and disgust.

"You- you hurt me when you left. You didn't even tell me why," she murmurs, voice husky with hurt, taking another step forward and reaching out a slender hand for yours. You move back again, hitting a wall and she follows you.

"But I'm here now. I'm getting you back and I'm going to look after you. How could I have ever let you go like this? I'm so sorry."

Your eyes snap open. _When had you even closed them?_ You look up at her as she tilts her head and gazes at you with cool, amber eyes, her soft, icy hands skating over your jaw. You shake your head, frantically sliding past her, pushing yourself off the wall to stand behind the sofa.

"You didn't let me go," you find yourself saying. "You _never_ let me go. I left. I ran. And I will do it again."

Her smile wavers for a second but it's still there as she circles the broken sofa, trying to get closer to you. You keep moving, keeping it between you and her.

"I know you, baby. You wouldn't do that. You were just being my big idiot. You weren't- you didn't mean to do that to me-" her soft words falter, a pained crack in her voice cutting her off before she shakes her head and tries again. "You _need_ me; you love me..."

A shudder sweeps through you.

 **You remember all the times you loved her.** Paper flowers scented with rose tucked into ribbons of blond hair, adoring valentine messages that you kept safe for years, giggling breakfasts in bed with jam spread on cheeks and crumbs stuck between toes, cool calming kisses on closed eyes and the tips of your fingers. An old, disgusting part of you wants to say yes.

 **You remember all the times you loved her**. The things you forgot to do and the way her smile would twist, the days you messed up and she would tell you: It was **you** who started it all, you who couldn't take it like a man, you who messed it all up. Of course she would be angry. Of course she would- _Shut up. Shut up. ShutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP-_

"No."

She blinks, her eyes flickering and smile falling.

"You're lying. You love me and you know it," she tells you.

"No." You say again, eyeing up your phone just a few feet to your right on the coffee table.

Her smile is gone now and you're having a hard time thinking straight as the world around you turns bright and sickly to look at, as your hands shake and a cold dampness to your skin sends a shudder up your spine.

You rush to the phone as she pounds towards you, scrabbling at the screen as she yanks at your arm. You call for help. You call the only person you can think of. She slaps the phone out of your hand just as you are about to hit the call button, the phone hitting your palm and spiraling to the ground. There's a sound of cracking glass but you hardly notice as Rose shoves you against the back of the sofa.

"Why couldn't you just have stayed with me? Why did you leave me? You never think! I was protecting you, keeping you safe and you left me, you **idiot**. It's all your fault I feel like this!"

You don't know how but somehow you find your way out of the fog for a moment and find it within yourself to talk back to her. "Of course I left you. You made me think I was losing my mind. You hit me. You burned me. You r-ripped my nails out and kicked my teeth in and forced me to- to- and- and no one ever believes me! You made them think it was me, that I was crazy but I'm-"

"You **are** crazy. That never happened! I never hurt you! Why would I hurt my husband? How could I hurt you?!" She cries, throwing her hands up in the air and staring at you with a bewildered, hurt crinkle on her brow. "You broke your teeth when some drunk idiot threw a bottle in your face. You burned your neck on that stupid heat massager you got on discount. I told you not to get tha-"

"SHUT UP!"

She stops and stares at you as you cease in edging away from her, standing by the sofa arm as you stare down at her with wild, furious eyes.

"You can lie to them. I don't care anymore. But stop lying to **me**. Stop making me- me- you- I know you did this. I know you made me like this."

There is a beat of silence, your words almost echo in it.

"...Did you just tell me to shut up?" She asks, voice like velvet. Your face falls slack. "Did you just call me a liar?" She shoves you onto your sofa and straddles your hips.

"Fine. You want me to honest?" She asks, grinding into you as you try to back away, hands scrabbling on the cushions. She growls, wrenching up your arms above your head and holding them there as she rubs her hips against yours. Oh god no oh god oh godohgodohgod-

" **You're** the one who hurt **me**. You're messed up. You're always blaming me. I'm the one who fucking cured you. The one who helped you reconnect with your family. But no. You wanted more. You wanted people to like you by making them feel sorry for you and making me seem like the bad one. I'm not the bad one. You just mess it all around! You're always messing things around!"

Everything is too much. She's hurting you, her hands letting go of your arms to fasten around your throat, nails digging in.

"And now you're off fucking a monster. An actual monster! _I saw him coming in here._ You're cheating on me. _**You're cheating on me!**_ "

Mindlessly, your hand scrabbles over the sofa, looking for something, **anything**. Metal curls under your hand from the broken spring. Your fingers wrap over it as you choke and buck.

She screams as you yank it loose and slice the broken edge of it across her belly.

You jump away with the distraction but she's screeching now and you're yelling and she's coming after you. It's all you can do to keep a hold of the jagged piece of metal in your hand as she digs her nails into your throat again and into your wrist, kicking at your legs and pinning you down under her.

"I hate you. I hate you so much," she hisses at you, eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. "Why can't you just come back to me?"

But you are stronger now. You know you are stronger _now_. You have to be stronger _**right** **now**_. You push back at the acid burning through your veins, at the numbness infecting your limbs and the dark voids of black wavering in your vision, and you kick her. You kick her off you, hard in the stomach. You scramble up and back away, make-shift weapon at the ready but she's not moving.

 _She's not moving. Oh God, she's not moving._

"...Rose?" you ask, hoarse voice barely a whisper. "Ro-Rosie are you okay?"

 _Oh god oh god._

You scramble for your mobile, pulling it out from underneath the sofa. Police? Ambulance? Who should you call? Oh god. What should you do?

Then you become aware of your name being called, by a small voice, over and over and **over** again. You look at the cracked phone in your hand. Its open on a call. You blink and raise it to your ear.

That's when Rose hits you on the head from behind with your laptop.

After that things become fuzzy. Someone's doing something you know. Your head feels weird, like someone has pulled all the skin there into a tight knot. Oddly, your shoulder is hurting too, a full throbbing feeling in the joint as if something is pulling on your arm.

A voice is whispering in your ear. The sound of it makes you flinch, as its teeth scrape at your neck, breath hot and moist and vile against your skin. You try to get away from it, you push blindly and stagger up. You think you're walking, things are moving past you. You're not su- no wait. You're on the ground. You crawl, dragging yourself away. Hands are on you again, a weight on your hips, fingers scrabbling at you, pulling at you, turning you over, but you keep pushing them away.

 _No. No! No get off!_

There's a sound, several sounds. Three bangs. All fast, none hesitant. Then a louder bang.

...Everything gets a little bit fuzzier. Someone is saying something. Quietly. You can tell by the tone of voice that it's quiet even if you can hear it clearly like a shout... not that you can understand the words right now.

A buzzing ache lances through your head, the humming sound of it thrumming through your skull and making it impossible to hear anything clearly. The blackness at the corners of your eyes seems to be eating away at the world around you, but you can still see somewhat, and you suddenly realise that it's Papyrus standing before you, bending down and bringing himself to your level.

You think you're smiling up at him, it's hard to know. You could be crying as well, you can't feel your face well enough to tell.

He's helping you. Propping you up as you try to sta- Wait. No, he's not helping you stand. He's holding you. Your head is tucked against his shoulder, the fluff of his hood tickling at your ear, a sweet scent whispering to you.

"Sherbet smoke," you slur. He doesn't seem to understand what you're saying. That's okay. Everything's okay. You can barely hear your own voice- only feeling the faint hum of it in your chest- so it must be hard for him. You turn your head to look up Papyrus but it's not you he's staring at any more. You turn your head to follow his gaze. Your faint smile drops.

"Rose," you breathe. "Don't hurt... Don't hurt… him." You try to push away, out of his hands to stand between her and Papyrus but those warm hands are gripping at you and holding you, not tightly exactly, but securely.

Papyrus is looking down at you for a long moment then he turns to the woman and says something. Then there's a strange feeling in your chest and, suddenly, everything turns small and black like you're being sucked backwards though a shrinking tunnel and your eyes roll back into your head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Warnings:**  
 **Concussion, swearing, gaslighting, implied past rape, manipulative behavior, isolation, emotional and physical abuse, alcoholism.**

* * *

When you come to, you're resting on something soft, and something hard. There is a faint dampness to your lips, a hint of salty sweetness on your swollen tongue. A hot, almost burning, hand trails over your forehead and weaves through your hair, and a faint voice whispers things to you in the warm darkness.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You know that voice. You listen as Papyrus says it again and again. You don't know why. You open your eyes and look up at him.

"Hey," you whisper, voice muffled and slightly slurred still.

He starts and almost drops the glass of sea tea, before quickly putting it down. "H-hey."

"What happened?" You ask. The silence falls thick and heavy on you both as Papyrus just stares at you.

"...You were attacked. You're safe now."

"How'd you know to come?"

"You called us, don't you remember? Sans picked up first, didn't really realise what it was for a bit, then he-" Papyrus cuts off with a growl. "He was making notes. Something about getting evidence. Didn't tell me what was going on until he heard everything escalating. Then he passed the phone to me and I- I heard what she was saying and I found the closest short cut to your place but-"

You look down away from his face, water beading at the corners of your eyes. You knew what was coming ne-

"That **fucking** piece of _slime_."

You blink and look sharply up at him, hardly noticing the wave of nausea at this movement. Later, you'll realise that this is the first time you have ever heard him swear. For now, your mind is taken up with only one thing.

"You believe me," you breathe, twisting in his grip to face him.

"Woah, don't move. Your head still has a nasty cut on it and y-"

"You believe me," you whisper, eyes intent on his.

He looks a bit surprised for a moment before nodding, only for him to let out a muffled yelp as you practically throw yourself on him and start kissing him like your life depends on it.

"O-okay. Nope. Not while you're injured and concussed, honey," he murmurs against your lips, slowly and kindly pushing you back from his lips to settle back down against the bed.

You comply but you're still staring up at him, almost unblinking in your intensity.

"Thank you," you tell him. _"Thank you_."

Papyrus seems to freeze as you say these words to him. You keep on saying them, only stopping when he cups your face, meeting your gaze, his jaw tense and brow furrowed.

"What did she _do_ to you?" He asks.

You look away from him, down and away. "It's a long story," you murmur.

"And I have the time to hear it," he returns.

You slump down into his lap and turn over to look up at him, eyes assessing the hushed, worried expression on his face.

"... R- Rose was- is my wife," you find yourself saying, watching intently as his face betrayed a brief flash of startled pain before it evened out again into a neutral expression. "I- I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just… it was painful. I wanted to forget."

Papyrus doesn't say anything, he just sits there, watching you, waiting for you to continue, which you do.

"I met her through a friend at Uni. Had a few partners before her but no one serious and a lot of them were men, which my parents didn't like. I know I shouldn't have let that stop me but, back then, the idea of losing my mum and dad? Well, it was one of the reasons I tried to make it work with Rose so hard when everything started going _wrong_." You pause, trying to sort out what you're going to say in your head, no longer looking at Papyrus and instead turning onto your back and staring up at the dusty bedroom ceiling instead.

"It was small things at first. She used to hide or throw away my things. Things she didn't like or thought I shouldn't have. Like my paints or photographs or little knickknacks I had from before her. Always said it must be me doing it by accident and I believed her... Then she started to tell me we'd done stuff we had never done before or met people or done things and act completely confused whenever I tried to call her out on this, telling me I was losing it!" Your voice raises slightly and you make yourself stop, taking in long, calming breaths before continuing. "It's called gaslighting, it's a type of manipulative abuse, I found out it was called that about two years ago. Makes a big difference to have something to call it. I didn't know that then though and just thought I had a bad memory or that I was an i- an _idiot_ just like she said." You swallow dryly, fighting back a nauseous throb of pain raking across your skull as you continue.

"She started doing things for me, constantly reminding me where to be or what I needed to do. I was thankful at first, but then these reminders started turning into other things. She took more and more control of everything, the house, our finances and she **always** knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. I dunno why I didn't get what was happening, maybe I was in denial, maybe I was used to it with my parents, but I just didn't realise. I loved her and we got married," you frown softly as you say this, running your hands over your arms and circling the rough material of your shirt with your fingers, focusing on the slight drag of resistance across the fabric.

"...My friends started avoiding me. Rose told me I was just messing up like always and not realising what I had said to them was hurtful and stupid but I don't think that was it. Family started talking with me less as well. When I did talk to them or see them, Rose was always with me. They loved Rose, still do." You pause again, drumming your fingers on your arm, grounding yourself with the soft sensation.

"…The physical side of it all started a few years in. First time, I was an i- I -I called the police. She had broken my nose and I pushed her off me, _hard._ She told them she was defending herself and they arrested me. It's on my record. Word spread somehow, my boss found out and I lost my job. Had no income, had no friends. She told my parents that I hit her and they were _so_ angry at me, and Rose had the cards to our bank account by that point as well so I couldn't go to a hotel or anything. Had nowhere to go so I went back to her. Smart move huh?" Papyrus doesn't say anything to that so you bite back the bitter smile on your face and just keep going. You don't think you could stop yourself now if you tried.

"Never called the police on her again and things, uh, they got worse. I started drinking, so did she. I drank nowhere near as much as her. Had to look after her when she had too much and it was _horrible_. The _things_ she- I- I think I tried to tell my parents about it after she- after the teeth thing, but by that point, Rose had told them about my lying compulsion and my drinking. She had control of everything: heart, mind and uh... _body_." You can feel how tense Papyrus is underneath you but you don't stop talking. You can't stop.

"Then, one day, after she- well. I just looked out the window of our house. It was raining and the sun was shining through the clouds and I knew I wouldn't be allowed out there if I asked and I suddenly thought: _isn't that stupid?_ So I cleaned myself up, got dressed, packed a bag, stepped outside and started walking, just in some random direction, got on a bus and I was free. After all those years, it was as easy as that," your lips quirk up in a strange smile. "I was homeless and penniless for a bit of course, but I was determined to get my life back. Had to go to several charities for help, with Street link and shp I managed to get a temporary place, and get on benefits. They then helped me find a job, first with selling the Big Issue, then with cleaning public areas up and finally cleaning an office which looked over my record for a cheap worker. I got to save up some cash. Enough for renting my flat at least. I kept on earning money, doing commissions and the like to earn extra. It's been years since the day I left that house and I made this life for myself and I met you and I... she-" you cut off, memories flashing through your mind of pushing her away, of cutting her across her belly, her kind smile and frantic hands. "Oh god, s-she's going to take it all away again and- and-"

You're cut off as arms wrap around you, squeezing you almost painfully tightly. _Almost_.

"She's not gonna touch another hair on your head," Papyrus hoarsely whispers. "I _promise_."

Water runs down your face and shudders rake down your frame as you lay there in the gloom and he just holds you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Your eyes feel heavy and your limbs like lead as you twist your head and press your forehead to his. He blinks and lifts his skull, meeting your gaze.

"Thank you," you murmur again, eyes shining and smile bright. Everything else may feel heavy but your mind, your very being, feels light and free, as if by saying those things, you had dropped the shackles from your soul.

Papyrus's eyes flicker from your face down to your chest, almost disbelieving for a moment before he looks back at you. "You're amazing," he murmurs.

You doubt that somewhat but say nothing as the heaviness pulls at your eyes.

"Go to sleep. Don't worry, I've got you."

You barely hear him as you slump into his frame, breathing evening out and hands falling slack as the warm darkness swaddles you in a dreamless embrace.

* * *

You wake up a few more times that night, usually as a heated hand runs over your forehead to check your temperature with a soft whispered apology.

"The medical website says I have to wake you every hour to check you're okay."

Each time you murmur that it's okay and nod, only to stop either when the room starts spinning and you feel sick or when those heated hands curl around the sides of your face.

"You gotta stop doing that," he half sighs, half laughs. You smile in turn and fall back into sleep.

When you finally wake up by yourself, you are alone. You take a moment to look around and take on that you're in Papyrus's room. Last time you were in here, most of your attention was taken up by Papyrus himself. You feel your cheeks light up at the memory.

You shake your head lightly, before quickly stopping and wincing at the feeling that move produced, and focus instead on satisfying your curiosity by taking a closer look around. Papyrus seems to be a bit of a hoarder. There is stuff everywhere. In one corner there is a pile of boxes filled with broken electronic devices, next to a table with a bulky computer monitor and a pile of rather battered and woebegone comic books. Across from that there are several book cases lining two of the walls and they are filled with an assortment of strange things ranging from dried up paint tubes and a folded up black flag to an oddly familiar fast food box and drink carton and water-damaged car manuals.

You have been poking around the clutter for a few minutes, peering at a collection of bizarrely pristine and well-kept children's books about knights and fluffy bunnies with assorted birthday cards tucked between them, when you hear raised voices outside of the room. You follow the sound of the argument outside and to the kitchen. Papyrus and Sans are glaring at each other or, to put it more accurately, Papyrus is glaring and Sans is looking tired.

"-ll her. So for the thousandth time, I'm not telling you where she is," Sans is sighing.

Papyrus growls out something you can't quite make out in response to this.

"Look, think logically brother. As much as I would love to watch you gu-" he cuts off, his blue and red ringed eye-lights flashing over to where you stand.

"Are you two talking about Rose?" You ask from the doorway. Papyrus jumps slightly. You refrain from smiling at him, simply watching as a guilty look sweeps over his face.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"For what?"

He mumbles something or other in a low voice. You think he's talking about bringing the subject of 'that woman' up around you.

You blink several times and sigh, rubbing your brow. "Look, R- Rose isn't a good person. I know this and I can't deny it. That's what got me into this mess to begin with… so I _don't_ want to run away from the mere mention of her name. I don't think I can ignore what happened to me anymore."

Sans is surveying you approvingly as you say this but you hardly notice as you instead watch the conflicted and thoughtful expression on Papyrus's face.

"Come on, stop flapping brother and let your mate have his breakfast."

You both wince slightly at his word choice for you there, exchanging a brief glance as you follow Sans to the kitchen table.

"You've had quite a big ordeal for a human," Sans comments as you take a seat, sending you a challenging look. You ignore the challenge but meet his gaze with an almost-smile. He seems to find this amusing but coughs to hide it and starts pushing breakfast things towards you. He beams across at you as you make yourself take a bite.

"You want a drink? Some more cereal? For me to be your lawyer?"

You choke on your spoonful of cornflakes, staring at the mad skeleton with befuddled, watering eyes.

"Don't give me that look, human. Your case is a good one. That female attacked you. You still have the injuries to prove it, your neighbours heard your screams and there will be security footage of her stalking you. It's an easy win!"

Papyrus makes a low grumbling noise, putting a protective hand on your shoulder, but you barely hear him over your sheer incredulity. Sans does though and he sends his brother a half irritable, half apologetic look before trying again in a slightly less excitable tone.

"We can put that bitch in jail and get all your money back to yo-"

"I don't care about the money," you interrupt, ignoring his scowl at this. "I just want her gone from my life."

You don't see Papyrus making a 'you see!' motion behind your back to Sans. You just see Sans roll his eyes.

"And what better way, excluding murder -andwe _are_ excludingmurderPapyrus-, to do this?"

You hesitate, confused about what Sans mumbled there about murder, and gnaw at your lip as you consider his offer. Sans looks at you, his expression serious but strangely kind.

"Look, you've had a shitty life. _That's just how it is._ It doesn't mean it _always_ has to be like that..." Sans pauses, looking behind you for a moment with large, blue eye-lights, before refocusing on you with a smirk. "You'll be able to clear your record, make everyone believe you're telling the truth again."

Papyrus's hand has tightened on your shoulder, you look around at him, wavering slightly.

"...It's your choice, hon," he finally says, sending Sans an unreadable look. You look away for a few minutes then glance down at your hands, at the crescent-shaped indents of your fake nails on your palm. You look up at Sans and make your decision.

"I'll do it... Thanks Sans, really. _Thank you,"_ You smile sincerely at him.

Sans looks a bit wide eyed for a moment then his gruff expression comes back with a vengeance, "I'm only doing it for the money. It'll be an easy case and we'll bankrupt her. See how she likes living on the streets. Mweh heh heh heh!"


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hi there!**_  
 _ **Sorry for the slight updating delay, Christmas is a killer for deadlines :)**_  
 _ **Hope you all had a really nice holiday and a good start to the new year.**_

 _ **Now, about this chapter. Spoiler: there is a sex scene. Now, if anything sexual isn't your cup of tea, please feel free to stop at the point where the reader says: "Yeah, I would. I really would, a hundred times over." or when Papyrus says: "No, you're not."**_  
 _ **I will just say though that everything is quite mild, consent is my kink and my amazing beta reader, who isn't a big fan of sex scenes, said that she enjoyed it as the focus was more on the emotional aspect (no lightsabers here I'm afraid).**_  
 _ **I hope you enjoy this chapter :) xxx**_

* * *

It's both strangely easy and terribly hard to start your prosecution.

You make the call to the police. Papyrus holds your hand the whole time you are on the phone. He even goes with you to the station to you show your phone and all the texts. He has to leave the room when they take photographs of the lines ringing your neck and the dried blood in your hair. You take out your bridge and remove the fake nails and your shirt, stutteringly asking them to take photos of those too.

You then have to have an interview. The policemen don't allow Papyrus to join you again, even when you say he is here for your support and that he is a witness. They just say the monster will have its own interview in a minute. You bristle at the way they refer to him but there's not much you can do. Sans will later find out about this and how they kept you both separate and you will realise that you are actually entitled to have someone to sit with you and support you. You are being misled. You don't know that at this moment though.

There are a few of police who make the comments you feared, how could a woman abuse a man for so long? Why didn't you just push her off? Are you physically weaker than her? You say nothing.

"That's enough," says one of the older police officers, sending the two men out after promising them words. She turns back to you, professional mask firmly in place. "This all started a long time ago. Why didn't you press charges before? Why didn't you call the police?"

"... I did, but they didn't think a woman could a-abuse a man. I was arrested instead."

The police officer sighs, and clicks off the recorder. "Honestly Sir? This is going to be hard on you, I will not lie. These sorts of trials, well, even with women they don't always go right. But I think you are being very brave to try. I wish you all the luck."

Your throat is too tight to say anything so you just nod as she turns and leaves. You re-join Papyrus half an hour later, expressing all of your doubts and fears in the almost desperate way you grab at his hand. He doesn't complain about this or about the fact that you are squeezing too tightly, he just squeezes back, silent but strong in his support.

* * *

While the both of you have been travelling back and forth from the police station to give your accounts over and over again to officers, physiatrists and the occasional psychologist, Sans has been working around the clock to gather enough evidence to convince the court your case is worth putting to trial. He contacts the charities you were helped by and has been getting them to give statements. He records your neighbours accounts and finds records of your previous hospital appointments. Then he goes to meet your family. You don't know about this, so when he comes back to the apartment unusually quiet and absentmindedly pats you on the head, you have no clue what happened.

You've been spending a lot of time round the brothers' place lately. Papyrus seems reluctant to let you out of his sight and, for now, you are fine with this. You don't think you are ready to go back to the flat by yourself yet. You don't like mooching off Sans and Papyrus though, so you help a rather busy Sans cook meals and ensure that both of them actually eat. Sans seems surprised when you make him a lunch to take to work and doesn't even grumble that you don't put enough spice in his sandwich.

Time seems to fly in this way, full of the many interviews and statements you must make and quiet little moments of jokes and cooking and light, fluttering kisses you steal away with Papyrus, and, before you know it, it is the night before the trial.

Sans is sat at the kitchen table reading over files and checking over photographs. You're slouched against one of the counters, staring blankly into space and Papyrus is standing in the doorway, watching the both of you with a soft frown.

Finally, Papyrus breaks the hush. "There's nothing else we can do. Get some sleep, both of you."

You blink, startled out of your thoughts and Sans grumbles mutinously, still glaring down at the file open before him.

"Nope, you're going to bed bro. Can't have a cranky, sleepy lawyer tomorrow now can we?"

Sans grumbles louder but allows himself to be gently nudged up onto his feet by his brother and guided his bedroom. You smile at the image of the two of them fading into the warm gloom and go get yourself ready for bed.

* * *

As you lie under the covers, staring unblinkingly up at the dusty ceiling, you see images in the artex. There's a face over there, and to the right a storm cloud and under that a hammer. You suck in a quiet, hissing breath between your teeth and try to push down at the feeling itching at your throat. O-over there, there's another face and- and-

"How you feeling?"

You jolt slightly at Papyrus's voice, looking sharply to your right to see him sitting down next to you, on top of the covers. When did he come in? You don't know.

"You alright?" He asks when you don't answer, a crinkle of worry on his brow.

"I'm okay," you tell him, pulling yourself up. The blankets fall away from you as you sit up. His expression is blank when he tilts his body to face you. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his as he takes your hands in his and weaves his fingers between yours.

"... You know, it's okay to not be okay."

You blink, turning to look at him properly before letting out a slow, shaky exhale. "...I'm nervous."

Papyrus nods, "I'm anxious."

You smile weakly, "scared."

"Terrified."

"Panicked," you start to smile properly.

"Worried."

"Happy."

"Ala- what?" Papyrus asks with a bemused blink.

Your smile is larger now as you pull your hands out of his and wrap your arms around his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder, eyes closed and heart drumming in your chest.

"You and Sans have done so much for me. Whatever way it goes tomorrow, I'll never forget that. Thank you."

Papyrus sits quietly in your arms for a few moments, staring into space. You can't see his face but his shoulders are lax as you press another kiss to them. He twists in your arms and faces you head on.

"...You've helped me before, remember? And, if you could, you'd be doing the exact same thing for me as we're doing for you," he murmurs, bringing his hands slowly up and down your sides.

You find yourself thinking of all the ways Papyrus has been there for you throughout this ordeal, of how he can make you laugh, how he holds your hand, how he shares his bed with you, just holding you until you fall asleep...

"Yeah, I would. I really would, a hundred times over," you whisper, meeting his eyes with a soft, warm look that says more than you think words ever could.

Papyrus meets that gaze with widening eyes before quickly pressing himself forward into your lips. It's faster this time, his breath hitching into your mouth, but no less gentle as he cups your face and threads his fingers through your hair. You match his pace, your hands running up and down his spine as you straddle him, running your tongue across his teeth.

His breathy sighs have turned to gasps as he pulls back slightly with a hot glow to his cheeks.

"This isn't a good idea. You've got your trial tomorrow, you're stressed and-"

"I know how I feel, Papyrus," you tell him, not moving an inch as you give him a moment to collect himself. "I want this. Do you?"

"More than you know," he quietly returns, voice hushed and almost reverent, but he still doesn't move. You watch him thoughtfully, trying to read the strange, almost worried expression flickering across his fa-... oh.

There are times when looks aren't enough and touches can't say everything and words **must** be said.

"This isn't me using you to forget tomorrow Papyrus," you say, shuffling back slightly, your legs tangling with the covers as you move. "It isn't me trying to clear some sort of debt either if you're worried about that..."

Papyrus hums softly, finally looking up at you. "What is this then?"

You pause thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling then back down at your... at your Papyrus.

"This is me wanting to be with you. It's me holding your hand and it's me kissing you on the shoulder and- and just me wanting to be with you in every way possible. In every way that you're okay having me," you pause again and let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing at the back of your neck. "I'm saying this wrong aren't I?"

"No, you're not," Papyrus tells you and suddenly you're kissing again, this time Papyrus shifting around to be on top of you as he kisses you into the cushions of his bed. "You're not saying it wrong at all," he breaths against your neck, trailing small, firm kisses down your chest, making you shiver with the sensation. The bed dips down around you as he shifts up, knees on either side of you. His fingers trail down to your hips, tugging at the hem of your top and his kisses climb back up to your lips.

In the heat of this moment, you don't even think to be embarrassed by the scars on your skin as your fingers join his and help him strip off your top. You turn your hands to him, pulling off the thick jumper, only to burst into laughter as it gets stuck around his head in your rush. He laughs with you, looking around foolishly, the arms of his top flapping as he shakes his head. Finally, it comes loose and his laughter fades into soft, gasping chuckles as you run your fingers down the cracks and divots on his chest.

You haven't compared him to a human skeleton in a long time, but now you are again reminded of the similarities and the differences. His chipped ribs are broader, running down further and fused together with no space between them, his arms are solid and as broad as your own, and you notice something glowing a faint white within his ribcage. You're distracted from your enraptured thoughts though as you are met in another kiss and heated hands trail down your chest, trailing down scars and faded burn marks. You meet his eyes and are unable to look away from the almost worshipful way he stares at you then down at your chest. It's almost too much. You close your eyes, just taking everything in for a moment and wrapping yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours and the feeling of his fingers.

Everything is warm, and soft and burning. Every touch feels like being kissed by flame. Every kiss feels like touching the sun. You lose yourself in the haze of it all, just pushing yourself into that warmth, mindlessly smiling as the heat bubbles through your skin and down your spine, creating a deep, burning ache within you. You want more of this. You want to never stop, just to feel this way forever and for Papyrus to feel it too.

Words bubble out from your lips, uncontrolled and untempered. You murmur praise, whisper out kind, affectionate names and gasp out all the amazing ways he makes you feel. Papyrus buries his face in the crook of your neck but you can feel the heat of his blush and his heated, heavy breaths on the skin of your neck as he grinds his hips into you. Slowly, hesitantly, he returns your words, his whispers slurring and breathless and everything to you as you stroke heavily at his hips, fingers slipping beneath the fabric. He gasps out, almost painfully, as your fingers wrap around him and slowly move up and down. He fumblingly makes to mirror your movements, bracing himself above you with one arm while slipping his left hand into your pyjama bottoms and trailing his fingers over you. You inhale sharply, only to lose your breath again as Papyrus captures your lips in a bruising kiss and starts to speed up.

It's getting hard to concentrate now. You have to focus on continuing to move your hand, on matching his reverent kiss, that amazing feeling blooming under his fingertips and remembering to breathe. The kiss dissolves into tight gasps as you both pant into each other's' mouths and stroke each other closer and closer to your peaks, just feeling each other and being with each other in a way you have never been before and- and- The world goes white.

As slow as dust drifting in a sunbeam, you come back to yourself, gasping, body no longer arching off the bed but collapsing back into the soft mattress. You pant softly, blinking and smiling stupidly before realising Papyrus is staring at you with wide, white eye lights, intent on your face. He's still hard in your hands but seemingly frozen, that is until you start to move your hand again and he groans, burying his head in the crook of your neck and hissing out short sharp breaths as you do your best to return the favour. It doesn't take long for his breathing to hitch and for his hips to stutter and freeze as he reaches his peak and comes apart in your hands.

The room falls quiet as you both lie there, hands trapped between you as Papyrus refuses to shift and you try to muster up the energy to slide him off. The energy never comes though and you slowly drift off, kissing him lightly on his brow as the world turns to fog and your mind turns to a dreamless sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey! Sorry for the delay in the last chapter. Sometimes life imitates art (or in my case writing) and I've become a supply teacher. No (literal) monster kids to adopt yet though, and the whole thing is actually a lot better than I thought it could be when I wrote The Supply. (No spitballs and a better work-life balance definitely!)**

 **Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter and that I got the court room scenes right (again, I have very limited experience about these things so please let me know if you notice anything off)**

 **Huge thanks to my beta LucariaAura and to everyone who liked and commented on this. Also Kinaesthetic has struck again with some awesome art. Links don't work here so I will just say: Check them out on deviant art. You should definitely check out some of their other pieces as well. They gave me ideas for some fics that I 100% needed to read :)**

 **Thank you for sticking with me until the end of the story, I know I don't have as many people reading this story on this site but I've had a lot of fun and I hope you have too xxx**

* * *

Your fingers slowly drum on hard, polished oak, discordant to the beat of your heart which seems to be going a mile a minute. Sans coughs to your right, watching you pointedly. You force your hand to still and look away, trying to find some form of distraction.

Your eyes flicker to your right, onto the jury. There is a mixture of men and women there. Some look interested in the whole proceedings; others look bored out of their skulls. You catch one pair of eyes, a man with greying hair and a pinstripe suit, he frowns at you and you look away, turning to stare straight ahead into space instead. Your fingers start to drum on your lap.

"You'll be fine," Sans sighs, turning to look at you with a slightly less grumpy expression than usual. "I am your defence after all."

You smile weakly and nod your agreement, only to freeze when the court doors open behind you and- and there she is. Rose walks in, her shoulders tense and gaze frightened as she catches your gaze. For a split second, her pink demure lips turn up at the corners and her eyes sparkle like ice. Then the moment is gone and she is backing away from you, looking to her lawyer with wide, shining eyes and trembling lips, holding tightly to her belly where a large bandage can be seen under a thin, white shirt.

You suddenly know this isn't going to work. She looks beautiful and fragile and **this isn't going to work.**

The judge calls for order and everyone falls silent as she robotically states the reason for the court case. Sans stands up.

"We are putting forward a claim against the defendant for trespass, harassment and assault, and are requesting a restraining order," he tells the court, completely unperturbed by Rose's battered appearance or the dirty looks several of the jury are sending his way.

Your wife's lawyer then stands. Your stomach lurches. You recognise him. His name is Jake Callahan. You remember him from college. Once or twice you two had gone out for drinks together when you were younger. You try not to think about that as he begins. Soon though, you find it impossible to even recall his name as you hear the words coming out of his mouth. Sans puts his hand on your shoulder as your lips part and your breathing grows uneven.

 _Abuser_. They're calling _you_ the abuser. Everyone hears him as he explains how you called Rose over to your home, how you lured her there with the promise of signing the divorce papers, and how you attacked her with a makeshift knife, desperate for revenge. Rose was just trying to defend herself, like when you attacked her all those years ago as seen on your record.

You stare at your wife as she looks out from the witness box with watering eyes and trembling hands, answering her lawyer's questions on her horrific experiences of being your partner. You look at her as she spins tales and tears. You look to the jury who are unanimously glaring at you.

 **This isn't going to work.**

…But then Sans smiles at you, eyes strangely gentle as he gives your shoulder a brief, reassuring pat. He stands up and- and you realise how terrifying he can truly be.

His small stature seems even smaller suddenly. He steps confidently forward, faces the court and you see an expression on his face that you have never witnessed before. His brow is crinkled and his eyes are wide and blue. You've seen Sans manipulative, you've seen him compelling but now he suddenly looks like butter won't melt in his mouth. He walks up to the jury with those wide blown blue eye-lights and a friendly smile, and he starts to talk.

His posture is relaxed but unbending as he faces them. His voice is slow, steady and calm. You sit there, frozen in place as you hear him slowly and steadily explain what your wife did to you. His movements are soft and comforting as he punctuates every sentence with a fact, evidence and witness statements.

"How could my client have arranged to meet this woman when he never even called her? There are no records of it on either of their phones, as you can see on the provided copies of the call records. My client never called her, he never even answered one of her phone calls. Not one. Does that sound like someone eager for revenge to you?" He asks the court, hands spread out palm up and face full of, what appears to be, genuine confusion. "There are no telephones at my client's workplace available for his use and no calls made to this woman on them. Outside of work, on the day she claimed he had called her, my client had been seen in the shopping mall and by a phones salesman of the name Melissa Harper, to change his number. I repeat: he wished to **change his number** after having numerous phone calls and never once answering. Does this sound like someone desperate for revenge?"

The looks of distrust and distaste on the faces of the jury are starting fade into contemplation. Sans doesn't stop there though. He brings up records of the forged signature on your phone and address contract. He shares security footage, and calls people to the stand. He has the police discuss how the 'makeshift knife' was actually a spring from a sofa and how, by the angle of the break the person who had broken it off was lying flat on their back at the time of the attack.

"Why would my client be lying in this position in front of the woman who he wanted to attack as the defendant claimed? Why did the defendant describe a broken spring as a 'makeshift _knife_ '?"

There are soft hums amongst the jury and even the judge looks thoughtful as Sans continues to call up his next few witnesses, confidence and assurance radiating from each and every word he says to them. You see your old doctor from four years ago who looks relieved to see you with less bruises, one of your co-workers who stares at you oddly the whole time and describes your skittish and nervous behaviour, and then, finally, your mum.

You see your mum for the first time in years, you see her warm crinkled eyes, the well cared for shine to her hair. She probably still smells like freshly washed cotton and nail varnish. You see her for the first time in so long, and watch Sans quietly turn her from that proud and distant woman into a blubbering, hysterical mess, begging for your forgiveness with a few well-presented facts. He does in fifteen minutes what you spent years of your life trying to do. _He makes her believe you, just like that._

Her makeup is running down from her eyes and her lips are quivering as she faces you. "I'm sorry, honey, I'm so sorry."

You stare at her from across the courtroom as she asks you- no, begs you to forgive her. You don't know what to say to this, so you say nothing, simply watching her as she looks in your face for some evidence of emotion. All you have to offer her is exhaustion.

By the end of San's presentation, Rose is no longer smiling underneath her mask. Cracks are running up her face, revealing flashes of anger and fear. The court stops for a recess and, while you feel nervous, you also feel hopeful. You look back at the benches behind you for the first time since arriving. You avoid your fathers steady, unreadable gaze and the curious stares you are receiving from those who came to act as witness. You're looking for someone in particular. Your tired, emotionless expression fades into quiet affection as you find him.

Papyrus is slouched at the back of the courtroom, looking somewhat uncomfortable in his ironed shirt and pristine trousers. He catches your eye though and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease somewhat. He smiles back at you and gives you a thumbs up. You snort, and Sans subtly whacks you on the shoulder to stop you making a fool of yourself.

When the court comes back from recess, there are several more witnesses and testimonies and then it is your turn to go up to the witness stand. You can see Papyrus quite easily from this angle, he smiles at you again as you sit there and you feel a surge of confidence. You're fine. You can do this. You're determined to do this.

You answer all the questions put to you and keep yourself calm when faced with harsh words and cruel claims that cause your face to flush. You sit straight-backed and dignified and you say your peace. It's much easier to tell your story when your eyes flicker up to Papyrus and you remember the hazy, warmth of his bedroom and his hands that held you as you said all these words aloud for the first time.

You take out your fake teeth and take off your fake nails and you explain when and how you got each and every one of your injuries. You don't look at Papyrus for this bit. There are some things he didn't hear before that you're having to say now. Your faces flushes and your shoulders tense but you know you _must_ do this.

The Judge sends the jury out for deliberation and you rejoin Sans, forcing a smile as he nods at you. You sit together in silence, you staring down at your hands and Sans calmly gazing at the opponents, both nervously awaiting the results.

* * *

You're in shock. You blink twice as the judge repeats the jury's ruling and look at Sans for confirmation. He's grinning evilly.

Yeah. Okay. Not a daydream.

You _won_.

You slump back into the chair, hands running over your face as you listen to the rulings in shock. Rose isn't put in jail or anything, but you do have your restraining order and you're happy with that. You're also getting your things back: the house that's in your name, your savings that Rose took control of (and luckily hadn't spent too much of) and compensation from her as well. It all adds up to a lot of money, especially when you sell the house.

But the money isn't what's important to you right now. Sans and Papyrus did it. They helped you clear your name.

You're free.

* * *

A few weeks later, sitting on your old sofa in your new flat, Papyrus and Sans are looking at your bank statement with wide eyes. The tv is blaring but no one is paying it any mind as you all stare at the piece of paper.

"…What did you do again before you became a janitor?" Papyrus finally asks, scratching the back of his head.

Sans seems suitably impressed when you start mumbling about stocks and business purchases but much less impressed when you explain how glad you're no longer in that line of work.

"I hated how everyone was out for blood, and how no one was to be trusted. And the maths! I mean I'm good at maths but God did I hate it."

"Well, either way, you have more than enough to pay my fees," Sans finally declares with a smirk, passing you the bank statement back.

"About that Sans," you start, watching the strange frown forming on your friend's face. "The fee you're asking for is too low. I looked it up, you should be charging me at least twenty percent more."

Sans's strange expression freezes then quickly morphs into indignation. "Fuck off, I charged just the right amount," he growls out, cheeks flushing purple as he pushes off the sofa and stomps off to the kitchen.

"He's not going to take the full fee from you, nothing you can do about it," Papyrus explains with a snort as you both watch San scowl and prowl through the kitchen doorway as he checks on the dinner.

"Can you help me then?" You whisper. "I want him to get what he deserves."

Papyrus chuckles quietly and nods with a thoughtful look on his face. He's better at subtle than you, he'll find a way to help you give Sans what he is owed.

Even with Sans's fee taken in consideration, you still have a lot of money left. You had wondered a little about the amount earlier. It seemed too large with everything added together... hell you hadn't even sold the house yet. You were still waiting for the cleaners to finish sorting out the mess Rose left for you before she packed up and vanished.

You had been beyond confused upon seeing the amount in your account. Then you had called up your bank and discovered where the money came from.

"That money isn't all mine and Sans's," you sigh lightly, smile fading away. "Some of it is apology money... from my parents." You shift over to sit closer to Papyrus on the sofa and exhale softly as his arms wrap around you. You tuck your head into his chest, ignoring the hard jut of his ribs for the moment and focusing on the warmth. "…They didn't call or message. They just dumped money at my feet without asking and what? They expect me to forgive them? To forget everything?"

"What're you going to do?" Papyrus asks, breath tickling at your ear and chest humming with every word.

"About them?... Nothing, for now. I was thinking of donating the money to shp and Street Linking. Perhaps I'll put part of it to Refuge as well, they do good stuff."

Papyrus blinks down at you and smiles, tilting your chin up with one hand to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. You think he approves of your decision somehow.

"Eww! Stop snogging my brother while I'm here!"

You break apart from Papyrus with a snort, amused with the dirty look the brothers share for a moment before Sans slams the three plates of tacos down on your coffee table and shoves you over, firmly wedging himself between you and Papyrus.

Maybe one day you will talk with your parents about all this, perhaps one day you'll even find it in you to forgive them, but right now...

Right now you are sat on your crappy sofa in your new flat, watching Steven Fry being thoroughly roasted by his panel.

Right now, Sans is sandwiched between you and Paps, complaining about the poor quality of the sofa.

"Hey, no slagging off the sofa. It's a good sofa. It saved my boyfriend's life," Papyrus complained right on back.

"Boyfriend?" You ask over Sans's head. Papyrus looks at you with a blank, deer in headlights expression. You grin and he nervously smiles back and Sans starts hissing:

"Can you NOT fucking flirt while I'm stuck between you?! Geez!"

Right now you are happy and content and, for the first time in years, **you're** **not alone.**


End file.
